The Nail
by blackberet
Summary: "For want of a nail...the battle was lost." Sometimes a small change can make all the difference. A reimagining of The Old Republic: Revan, with LSF Revan...and one other wise-cracking change.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Call me lowbrow, but in my heart of hearts, I'd rather my epic multi-game space operas ended in awesome parties and lovers reuniting than in heroic self-sacrifice. The title comes from the proverb "for want of a nail," in which a missing nail in a horse's shoe prevents a message from reaching a king, and as a result, the battle and kingdom are lost. The idea is that one small change can win or lose a war. In this case, there are actually two changes. One, that Revan is a woman, is incidental, but the other—well, you'll see.

Two quick notes about other suggested reading. First, the events in this story are based on Drew Karpyshyn's novel _Star Wars: The Old Republic: Revan _(the canonical sequel to the KOTOR games). If you haven't read the book or want a refresher, the Wookieepedia page on Revan ( wiki/Revan) has an excellent (and spoiler-filled, obviously) synopsis. I don't own these characters, and I do encourage you to pick up the original novel, which is a great read that develops the characters in a different direction than I do here.

On that note, our Revan here is the same interpretation as in my KOTOR 1 story cycle _Downtime _( s/5708445/1/Downtime), so there are a handful of in-jokes here for those of you who've read that. I never did get around to writing that story about Bastila and the slumber party, but I hope you'll enjoy this nonetheless.

* * *

"Nathema," Mandalore had said. He'd told her the story of how he and Revan had found Mandalore the Ultimate's mask and an old datacron in a Sith burial chamber on Rekkiad, and what Revan had remembered there: that another Sith, an enemy of the one buried in the chamber, had enlisted Mandalore to help him find the tomb and then convinced him to start the war against the Republic. Revan had been desperate to understand why, and the only clue she had was that the Sith who had been buried on Rekkiad had once been a ruler on a planet called Nathema. The coordinates were on the datacron.  
The catch was that Revan had made the journey to Nathema once before, with Malak. The first thing they did when they came back was attack the Republic. But even that hadn't stopped Revan from going. And this time—T3-M4 had the holorecording to prove it—she'd been kidnapped.

Both Mandalore and T3 had said something else, too. Before she left, Revan had had nightmares of another planet, one covered in terrible storms.

It wasn't much to go on, but it was enough to set a course.

* * *

In most ways, the Ebon Hawk was the same ship she'd always been since she was appropriated by wayward Jedi. The interior hadn't changed at all; the bunks were the same as ever, though the sheets were made up better than usual. The synthesizer still produced rations that could optimistically be called mediocre. If you sniffed in the wrong place, you could still pick up more than a hint of Wookiee.

But there was one key difference, and it was glaring enough to bother even an exile who'd had plenty of opportunity in life to get used to it: the Ebon Hawk was silent.

A lot of the time the noise on the ship had been arguments, but at least it had been something. It felt strange now that Meetra Surik had dropped the last of her companions off, said all her goodbyes and left known space on an almost-empty ship in pursuit of a woman she hadn't seen in years. She tried to spend the interminable quiet hours preparing herself mentally for whatever she might face out there, but still, the _silence_—

"You damn cheating trash compactor, you were scanning the deck!"

Well, maybe it wasn't _completely _silent.

Meetra eased herself up from the floor where she'd been meditating, stretching her cramped legs, and wandered toward the cockpit. The Hawk was on autopilot and Atton was slung sideways in the pilot's chair, scowling down at a losing Pazaak hand. T3-M4 beeped innocently.

"Hey, Exile, does the ship need any maintenance? Because I'm thinking we could easily spare this hunk of metal for parts," Atton said.

Meetra tried to keep a straight face. "There is no emotion; there is peace."

"Soon it's gonna be _pieces_, if the droid keeps this up," he said.

She'd thought long and hard about whether it was a good idea to bring him. Admiral Onasi had mentioned several times that Revan had been determined that she couldn't take anyone she loved with her out here. When she'd repeated that to Atton, when Kreia was dead and Meetra was restocking the ship for the long journey ahead, he'd just said, "Good thing we don't have to worry about that, then," and tossed his cloak casually back over his bunk as if to restake his claim to be there. Or as if he were daring her to challenge him.

She'd rolled her eyes at it like the throwaway line it was and hadn't pushed it. Privately, she wasn't so sure she didn't have to worry about it—but if Atton didn't, that was enough. The backhanded flirting didn't change, but they never talked about it and Meetra dutifully kept herself from analyzing it. She extricated herself and went to meditate or perform some mindless maintenance task anytime it started to twinge at her conscience, which was more often lately. Love or not, it wasn't something the Council would have condoned.

Meditating soon after that conversation, she had been struck with a sudden conviction that there was some reason Atton needed to come with her, but when she opened her eyes she couldn't be sure that wasn't just wishful thinking.

Atton was still a newly-minted Jedi, a Padawan with a teacher who would have had no business training anyone if there had still been anyone around to tell her no. With a start like that, it was all too easy for Meetra to imagine him getting killed, or corrupted by the Dark Side, or any of a hundred other terrible outcomes. But in the end, she folded her cloak next to his and told him the course he should set.

"Your training could use some work," she said now, though she was still half-grinning.

Suddenly Atton wasn't. "What else is new?"

* * *

Even with hyperspace jumps, the trip to Nathema was a long haul. When the Hawk could run on autopilot, they spent a lot of their time training. The main hold was just large enough to practice throwing lightsabers in, if you stood in just the right place and weren't too concerned about scarring the walls up a little. Judging by the holes in one of the side holds, which looked like they'd been made by a blaster, they couldn't have been the first to practice combat in here.

"It has to be faster." Meetra demonstrated again. On the far side of the hold, T3-M4 was projecting a holographic image of a Dark Jedi, their makeshift target; her lightsaber "decapitated" it neatly and came back around to her outstretched hand. "Patience is a virtue, but if you take that long to line up your throw, you might lose your opening."

"That's as fast as I can go and still have time to aim right," Atton said.

"Don't worry so much about aiming at the outset. Just throw it in the right direction, and use the Force to guide the trajectory. Then guide it back around to your hand."

Atton retrieved his lightsaber from where it had fallen after his last attempt and threw it again, much faster. It sailed past the target, missing it by a good meter, then traced the return arc too broadly. The end of the blade scarred the far wall, killing the weapon's momentum. It clattered to the floor and the beam went dead. Meetra suppressed a wince.

Atton looked at it dolefully. "And you're sure I can't just use a blaster?"

_ Are you even trying?_Meetra wanted to ask. She bit her tongue in time. Of course this seemed easy to her; she'd been trained for it since she was a toddler. Atton had plenty of combat experience, but beginning his studies as a Jedi meant unlearning a lot of what he thought he knew. Echani training this was not. She needed to be patient with him.

She reminded him calmly, "You already know that won't work against a lightsaber—you've said it yourself. Think about how easy it is for a Jedi to block blaster fire."

"It isn't easy."

"It'll get there."

"Maybe." Moving quickly, not looking at her, he picked up his lightsaber again and headed for the cockpit. "Better go check on the autopilot."

"Atton—" Meetra began. But he was already halfway down the corridor, and she couldn't think of what she had meant to say anyway.

She went back to her quarters and tried to meditate, but it wasn't happening.

When she thought of her own teachers—her master, Kavar, Vima Sunrider—she remembered their calm strength. If they had ever felt insecurity or doubt about her ability, or their ability to teach her, she had never seen it. She wished now she could go back and ask if they had truly been so confident, or if they had just been better at reining in their emotions than she was.

He wasn't ready for whatever was going to come their way. None of her students were. But at least the others had the entire Archive to help them learn, not to mention Bastila Shan, Deesra, Atris—not that the only Master of the three was likely to be prepared to teach anytime soon, but a novice still had a better chance of learning there than here, stuck with one exiled Jedi Knight with a schoolgirl crush. If her Padawan struggled, it was because of her failings, not his. Teacher, teach thyself.

She wondered what Revan would say about all that. She kept herself from wondering if they'd live long enough to ask her.


	2. Chapter 2

The days didn't take long to blur together. Interplanetary travel will do that to you. Although Atton spent as much time in the cockpit as he ever had, the Ebon Hawk practically flew itself. Meetra meditated frequently; Atton didn't. They conserved their emergency rations by eating the slop from the synthesizer, some of them with more whining than others. They played dozens of games of Pazaak. Meetra won twelve of them.

Atton's lightsaber throws didn't make appreciable progress. Meetra didn't push it.

She was in the middle of a sleep cycle when they hit the Nathema system. Atton called her when they were starting the approach, and she took her seat in the co-pilot's chair to get her first look at the planet where Revan had gone missing. Nathema was a dull brown world without even a hint of vegetation to break up the monotonous surface. There was no activity visible anywhere on or near the planet, either: no lights, no other spacecraft. Nothing.

Suddenly she felt ill. She didn't usually get spacesick, but she chalked it up to that anyway until it got worse.

The feeling grew even stronger as the planet loomed larger in front of them, and then she pinpointed it: she couldn't feel the Force here. It wasn't a wound, like Malachor V, and it wasn't a sense that someone was speaking to her but she couldn't hear them no matter how hard she strained, the way she had felt when she had been cut off as an exile. It was just—nothing. Profoundly gone. _Wrong._

T3 trilled out directions, guiding them to Revan's last known location. Atton flashed it an irritated side-eye but complied. Meetra could feel herself tensing as they descended.

Atton glanced over. "Something up?"

"Yes. Don't you feel it?"

It took him longer than it had taken her, but a beat later he shook his head. "No. I don't. It's like the Force is just…missing."

"And there's Revan's crash landing." Meetra pointed ahead of them, and T3 beeped in affirmation. Revan had taken out not just part of a building, but a long streak of the street below, and everything that had been in it.

"Women pilots," Atton cracked half under his breath.

_She was shot down_, Meetra wanted to snap back, but she caught his expression first and knew he hadn't forgotten; like her, he was getting increasingly uncomfortable and dealing with it in his usual way. She kept her mouth shut and gazed at the strip of destruction as they closed in. There was no trace of the ship that had belonged to the red-skinned being who'd kidnapped Revan. Not that she'd really expected there to be, but a twinge of disappointment made itself felt over the terrible sense of unease nonetheless.

Atton brought them in to land near where the Hawk had come to rest on its last trip. Even before the doors opened, the absence of the Force was oppressive, like a physical weight on Meetra's chest, threatening to crack her ribs and squeeze her lungs shut. She wanted to stay on the ship—better yet, to lift the landing gear and fly the ship right back up—but she was Atton's teacher, and she had been a general, and she was used to squaring her shoulders and doing things she didn't want to. She led the way out, deliberately calm. They were Jedi. They could handle this.

Once they touched ground, though, she wasn't at all sure anymore. The pressure on her chest felt like it had tripled. She found herself struggling to catch her breath, and when she turned, she could see that Atton was looking pale too. "Do you want to wait with the ship?" she asked.

He looked like there was nothing he'd like more than to wait with the ship, possibly in the refresher, but he forced an incredulous stare. "What, so I can guard it from the hordes of thieves and vandals roaming the streets? I'm coming with you."

As stubborn as ever, but she wasn't complaining; if he hadn't been there, the desire to bolt would have been close to overwhelming.

She tried to clear her head and think logically. If there had been evidence at the crash site that would have told them anything about where the red-skinned man had taken Revan, T3 would have found it while it was repairing the Hawk. There were two threads to follow here: what Revan had found when she first came to the planet with Malak, and what her kidnapper might have wanted on Nathema, assuming he hadn't just been following Revan; maybe that would give them a hint as to where he'd taken her. Either way, they needed more information about the planet.

"We need to find some kind of archive. Something that can tell us more about this world," she said to T3. Surprisingly enough—and luckily, since standing still was making the pressure worse—it responded quickly. With an oblivious beep of excitement, it led the way like a tour guide through the deserted streets to what looked like an equally deserted government building. (It seemed bureaucracy came in the same flavors everywhere.) The door was locked.

"I don't think we can slice this," Atton said.

"Watch me," she answered, trying to copy a little of his usual bravado as she ignited her lightsaber and carved down through the bolt. The door popped open, and they entered to find themselves in darkness. Atton ignited his lightsaber as well, and in the dim glow, they were able to make out a waiting room—and find the stairs. Neither of them commented on the abandoned piles of clothes littering the floor.

As she climbed, Meetra concentrated on the sound of Atton's footsteps behind her, and on taking slow, even breaths.

It wasn't until they reached the third floor that they found what they were looking for: the data banks. T3 started downloading the information, leaving Meetra and Atton with nothing to do but wait for the first time since they'd landed. Suddenly the full force of the emptiness was on them. There were no windows. There was no light but what they were carrying. The pressure surged back on Meetra's body until she thought she might suffocate. She braced her back against the wall just to hold herself up. It was as if their own energy were being sucked away from them in nature's effort to fill the unnatural void. They could go crazy here, she realized.

Nearby, Atton was pacing, muttering Pazaak moves under his breath.

"Are you all right?" she got out.

He rounded on her. "Let's talk."

"About what?"

"Anything. The weather. What we're going to order at the cantina when we get out of here."

She tried to think. "A Reactor Core."

"Spoken like a smuggler. You pick that up in your merc days?"

"No. Drinking one of those when you're traveling alone is tantamount to having a free credit giveaway. You need to be a Jedi to be able to resist the hallucinogenic effects."

"You know, Exile, some people would say that the hallucinogenic effects are the point."

"I just like the taste."

Atton laughed quietly, though there wasn't much humor in his stifled chuckle. The deadness of the air seemed to flatten out his voice. "What I wouldn't give for a juma juice right now."

Meetra took a breath and stood straighter, looking just at him, shutting the empty building out. He was watching her with the same intensity. "Just what we need, you passing out right where you're standing. I don't know if I can carry you all the way back to the ship."

"Hey, that never—that only happened once. Just because that damn bounty hunter didn't know when to call it quits."

"If I recall, Mira wasn't the one who needed to call it quits."

"Listen, you—"

T3 beeped and disconnected from the system. Meetra spun on her heel. "Let's go."

They hurried down the stairs, through the empty lobby, back out into the streets, toward the ship. She realized she was running only when she noticed that Atton was sprinting beside her. He grabbed her hand and they bolted the rest of the way to the Ebon Hawk together.

Even the clang of their footsteps was dulled as they hit the ramp and charged down the corridor to the cockpit. Meetra beat Atton to the pilot's chair and fired up the Hawk's engines. As soon as T3 made it through the hatch, they were airborne.

She took it up like they were being chased, ratcheted up the throttle and made for the sky, got out of atmosphere and kept going. The Hawk was almost to the edge of the system when Meetra finally pulled back and let it idle, leaning back in her chair and heaving a sigh.

"Fun planet," Atton cracked weakly. He still looked a shade too pale.

She probably didn't look much better. "Barrel of laughs," she agreed.

They looked at each other and laughed, a glad-to-be-alive laugh.

"Glad you were there," Atton said.

"You too," Meetra said back.

They sat in silence for a long moment, just enjoying the feeling of air moving freely through their lungs. Finally Atton cleared his throat. "So, time to get the hell out of here?"

"You've got it." Meetra throttled up the engines again. "And then it's time to get started reviewing those archives."

* * *

A full week of drifting through space later, Atton was starting to get a little stir-crazy. They'd been analyzing T3's data from Nathema for days. Well—the Exile had been analyzing it for days; personally, Atton had spent that time alternating between analyzing, cracking wise, and making sure they got something to eat. Meetra would cheerfully have survived the whole week on meditation alone, but Atton had yet to attain that level of Jedi enlightenment.

As far as he could tell, they knew five big things so far:

1. Whatever had happened to Nathema had happened almost a millennium ago, so all their records were ridiculously out of date. Not good.

2 What had happened turned out to be some kind of Sith ritual conducted by a guy named Lord Vitiate, the ruler of Nathema. It had obviously involved the death of everyone else on the planet—and, of course, that weird absence of the Force. Also not good.

3. The records described the Sith Empire, and the Exile was of the opinion that Revan was worried about its coming back. Really not good.

4. However, all the planets mentioned in the archives were already known to the Republic. Not good for their search.

5. Except one: Dromund Kass, the original homeworld of the Sith species. (Atton hadn't even known there had been a Sith species, although the fact that Dromund Kass was long-lost might have something to do with that.) Apparently Vitiate had had a big research program going to find it.

Atton wasn't sure what the broader implications of that last one were, but something told him they were—no points for guessing it—Not Good.

He looked down at the datapad he was holding and realized he'd read the same screen three times without absorbing a word. "Time for a break," he announced, hoisting himself stiffly to his feet and stretching. He'd been hoping the Exile would take the hint, but she didn't even look up, still absorbed in the research project records. Atton headed for the synthesizer, trying to blink away the text still dancing behind his eyes.

Bao-Dur had cleaned the synth pretty thoroughly after that time they'd found a rotting gizka stuck in the works—Atton was going to have to ask Revan about that if they ever found her—but it hadn't helped the taste. Still, it was energy, and better than wasting the rations they'd brought for when they were planetside. He programmed it without needing to look at the controls and sat back to let it work, keeping an ear out for movement from Meetra's direction.

Atton hated cooking, even with a synthesizer. Part of his motivation for perfecting his Pazaak game had been that when you had credits, you could buy all your food out. He was almost glad to have to do it now, though. He hadn't been much use on Nathema, having spent most of the trip trying not to scream, and all this research wasn't his forte either. Making the food was about the only helpful thing he'd done so far, and even that Meetra would've been fine without. Even the damn droid was a more viable crew member than he was at this point.

His brooding was interrupted by motion in the doorway. Excitement shone through the weariness on Meetra's face. "I found it. The research team extrapolated hyperspace coordinates for Dromund Kass. It's our best lead on Revan."

The synthesizer finished the food. Atton looked down at it. Like the data from Nathema, it didn't look good.

"Well, then," he said, "Sith HQ it is. Sounds like fun." He broke off a piece of dinner and chewed it—strangely sour. Revan had better be damn grateful when they got there.


	3. Chapter 3

Atton took over in the pilot's chair for the approach while the Exile went to change. He could see why Revan had had nightmares about this world. Even from a distance, the storms were clearly visible over the entire surface of the planet. Theoretically Kaas City, the largest urban area on Dromund Kass, was beneath them somewhere, but he'd be damned if he could see it.

As soon as they hit the atmosphere, the Hawk was slammed so hard by wind and torrential rain that he nearly strained all the muscles in both arms keeping her on course. Lightning stabbed down all around them. He couldn't get a visual on a damn thing; he just had the ship auto-target the main spaceport and prayed it actually existed.

It wasn't until they were almost on top of it and broke through the lowest layer of clouds that he actually saw the place. A handful of other ships were rising or descending around him, though hell if he could figure out why anyone else would want to come here. They didn't seem to have any docking officials directing traffic, so he just located an empty berth and took them down.

Meetra came back into view just as Atton was easing the Hawk down to the landing pad. She was wearing black pants and a sleeveless red top, close-fitting—not quite poured on, but better than the robes—and not a lightsaber in sight. Atton twisted around to evaluate; now that the hard part was over, he didn't need to see to land. "The merc look works for you."

"And you do an impeccable smuggler imitation," the Exile quipped back. They were both back in their old clothes for the occasion, Atton happy to be wearing his favorite vest again instead of the Jedi getup—and even happier to be carrying a blaster. Good thing they'd had the foresight to pack for a variety of parties.

"Revan is here," she added before he had time to come up with a smart reply to that. "I can feel it."

"Glad I didn't fly through that storm through nothing. You know, not one pilot in a hundred could have stuck that descent that smoothly."

"Somehow the locals must manage," she pointed out. Lacking a good comeback to that, Atton scowled and opened the hatch.

They barely made it down the ramp before they were stopped by a human customs official. The conversation started with the familiar old dance of we-want-to-keep-our-arrival-off-the-record, that-kind-of-service-costs-extra, but it got into strange new territory fast when the Exile produced her bribe: a diamond.

The promise of a cut of the proceeds from that did the trick. "What the hell are you doing with a rock like that?" Atton hissed in Meetra's ear as they headed for the street.

"It's always a good idea to carry more than one currency when you're traveling," was all she said. He followed her with a refreshed sense of respect, if not quite forgiveness for the way she'd dismissed his piloting prowess. Nothing like a woman who could surprise you.

The streets weren't covered despite the pouring rain, so they hugged the shop walls under the overhangs, pushing through the crowd of other people doing the same thing just enough to look like mercs without pissing anyone off. Now that he could look around with his attention _not _directed entirely at trying not to crash, Atton saw that the city skyline was dominated by a massive fortress. It wasn't producing any light of its own, but every flash of lighting threw it into relief against the darkness. Come to think of it, Atton wondered if that was the reason the walkways weren't covered: maybe you were meant to be able to see it from any vantage point in the city.

"Wonder if that's where Vitiate hangs out," he suggested quietly to Meetra.

"It certainly seems likely. The only trick will be finding out without revealing ourselves as outsiders." She raised an arm to shield her face from the rain as she peered at the fortress. "I just hope that isn't where Revan is being held."

It was a short walk to the store the customs official had mentioned, and once again, the sparkle of light on gemstones cut the bureaucratic run-around short. From there, it was almost too easy: they negotiated a price with the shopkeeper for the jewels and a meeting with someone who found people. Two days later, they met that guy at a club and set up a meeting with the red-skinned Sith guy from the droid's recording of Revan's crash. It wasn't long before they were landing their rented speeder at a cave outside the city for a friendly chat with "Lord Scourge."

* * *

"I still want to know who names their kid 'Scourge,'" Atton remarked for the tenth time as they brought the rented speeder in for a landing. As usual, though, while his mouth was running, his eyes were also scanning their surroundings. The outskirts of the city weren't any cozier than the city itself. It was _still _pouring. There was another speeder already parked about fifty meters from the cave mouth; looked like a six-seater. "Do you smell that?" he asked.

"Are you going to say it smells like a trap?" Also as usual, the Exile was merciless in stepping on his lines. "Almost certainly. Good thing we have Tee-Three to protect us."

T3 beeped in what Atton could've sworn was a smug tone. He suppressed the urge to kick it. "Hey," he said, "let me go in first."

The half-second flicker of surprise that flickered across her face was unusual for her. "Was that chivalry, or are you worried I'll mess it up?"

"Just having one of my bad feelings."

"That's the Force, Atton."

"Or indigestion."

She ignored that. "Thanks for the offer. We'll go together."

It actually had been supposed to be chivalry, but privately he was just that little bit relieved that he didn't have to make good on it. He opened the roof and they stepped out into the driving rain, making a break toward the mouth of the cave. T3-M4 wheeled alongside them over the uneven terrain, emitting a series of low whirrs that sounded suspiciously like grumbling. As embarrassing as it was to agree with the droid, Atton could relate.

No surprise that the cave was pitch black. They'd been expecting an ambush, planned for a whole range of scenarios, but this was the most likely. It meant their assailants would be wearing night-vision goggles—or else that they were Force-users who didn't need light to beat the snot out of two lone Jedi and a trash compactor on wheels. Their plan would work a lot better if it was the former, but Atton was bracing himself for anything.

The Exile took a few more tentative steps forward and kicked off her helpless damsel act. Peering into the darkness with a remarkably convincing look of fear on her face, she called timidly, "Is anybody here?" Silence. _Come on, Tentacle Face_, Atton thought, _make your move already. _"Hello? Is anyone here?"

Atton played along. "Uh, maybe we should just go back. This place is creeping me out."

That did it. From the darkness, a male voice yelled, "Don't move! We have you surrounded."

"Lord Scourge, is that you? We only want to talk."

"Lie flat on the ground and put your hands behind your head. If not, we open fire."

"Now, Tee-Three!" she ordered.

The droid threw its headlamp on at full power. The intense light blinded Atton for a second, but it would mess up night-vision goggles for longer than that. Once his pupils contracted, he could see them all, standing in a loose circle around him: six guards with heavy armor and large blaster carbines. For a second, Atton was almost jealous.

As soon as they had their opponents pegged, he and Meetra jumped apart at the same time, just as the guards—still blind (they'd guessed right about the goggles), but well-trained—opened fire on their last known position. He was well clear of the target area by then, and he had a few seconds to consider his options.

_Okay_, he thought, _think this through_. Mindfulness, that was the Jedi shtick; don't just jump into battle on auto-pilot like some dumb merc. Atton knew you were supposed to use the Soresu lightsaber form to defend against blaster bolts and Shien to deflect them back, but he also knew his needed a lot of work. What he could do was Shii-Cho—the most basic of the basics.

He left the blasters on his hip and pulled his real weapon out from its hiding place under his open vest.

Meetra had already drawn her lightsaber (seriously, from where?) and launched into her acrobatic routine. Atton lunged back in and managed to get the drop on the nearest guard with a wide sweep of his lightsaber. He kept pushing, trying to drive his opponent back toward the second-closest one. From a Jedi's perspective, it was a good move—the wide sweeps of Shii-Cho left gaps when you were fighting one opponent, but worked well against two. It was also a good move from a smuggler's perspective—having people shooting at you from two different directions was just plain stupid.

A third opponent was taking potshots at him from a distance, ignoring T3's advance from one side. Atton gritted his teeth and edged to his right, trying to keep the closest one in between them.

The guards had ditched their goggles and were starting to get serious by now. Atton took a couple of minor hits but kept on advancing until he gave a final shove forward that boxed them in. As luck would have it, that was the same moment that the droid's flamethrower went off. Screams resonated off the cave walls. Atton dropped his stance and gaped. It was the oldest trick in the book, but it worked: the two guards looked. He swept in with a pair of strong strokes like a brush on canvas, one-two, knocking their weapons away with the first and coming back across their necks with the second. He looked down to make sure they were dead (always double-check), then over at Meetra, who had taken out the three guards who'd attacked her. All six of them were dead now. One was extra crispy. The stench of burnt flesh was almost overwhelmingly.

And then the Sith stepped out of the shadows, red lightsaber raised. Without an instant's hesitation, Atton decisively flung his own lightsaber and missed.

"You're a Jedi," the Sith said loudly, like he hadn't even noticed, voice dripping with wonder. "What she said was true. She saw you. She knew."

"Who saw us?" Atton asked, hoping to move the conversation along quickly from the whole wayward-attempt-at-a-killing-blow episode.

"Not you. Just her." Scourge pointed at the Exile.

Oh.

The Sith continued, still talking only to Meetra. Atton realized that getting ignored was something that was happening to him with startling frequency around here. "You're here because of Revan. You've come to rescue her."

Meetra's eyebrows soared. "I'm impressed you figured it out so quickly."

"I didn't figure it out. Revan told me."

And then the story came out. Scourge had taken Revan prisoner, but seemed to have come to a change of heart (maybe Revan was hot under the mask, Atton speculated). Allegedly, at least, they shared the goal of preventing the Sith from attacking the Republic, although Scourge was obviously motivated less by a deep and selfless concern for all life in the galaxy than by the conviction that the Sith would get their asses kicked. And Scourge at least _talked _like he thought that Vitiate was crazy and Nathema was a galactic hellhole abomination—which was why he thought they should work together to help Revan.

"Come with me and I will take the two of you and your droid to see Revan," the Sith promised finally, letting his weapon drop. The Exile and Atton kept theirs up. "She will tell you the truth."

It sounded good. Atton didn't trust things that sounded good.

He didn't even need to say anything skeptical; Meetra did it for him. "Before we go anywhere with you, we're going to need more to go on than just your word that you really want to stop the Emperor."

"I can bring you proof. Wait here and I will return tomorrow."

"How do we know you won't just come back with more reinforcements?" Atton asked.

"You will sense me through the Force before I actually arrive. If I'm not alone, you will have plenty of time to make your escape."

Meetra nodded. Atton was less confident. He wasn't sure he'd sensed _Scourge_per se; he'd just had a gut feeling they were walking into a trap, and that could be as much, oh, basic common sense as Force sensitivity. But he didn't want to tip his hand by saying that wasn't good enough, so he nodded as well.

"What about Revan?" Meetra asked.

"She is safe for the moment. But I cannot free her without help."

"You have until tomorrow. Return with proof and we can work together to free Revan."

Atton wasn't sure what kind of proof would be forthcoming—a holorecording of Revan saying, "Hey, guys, Tentacle Face here is okay"?—but Scourge acknowledged Meetra's demand readily enough and made for the exit. Meetra stopped him right before he got there. "If you betray us in any way—if you come back with reinforcements, or even if you don't come back at all—I will hunt you down."

Not _we._ _I_, Atton thought. Just noting.

"Save your anger for the Emperor," Scourge retorted. "He is the real enemy." Then he left.

They waited until they heard the speeder leave before they said anything else. Atton concentrated on sensing the difference between Scourge-there and Scourge-not-there. He thought he noticed a marked change, but maybe he was kidding himself.

"I suppose I don't need to ask whether you trust him," Meetra said with a touch of amusement once Tentacle Face was finally gone.

"Not even close. But it sounds like Revan's been setting him up all along for this. Might as well stick to her plan, as long as he can bring proof."

"I agree," Meetra said. She turned and began walking back toward the cave entrance. "We might as well get settled in, then. I'll go get the supplies from the speeder. Then we should move the bodies."

T3 trundled along right at the Exile's heel; Atton skated around it to fall in step with her. He was just glad he'd insisted on _bringing _supplies, just in case. True to form, food had been low on Meetra's list of priorities when they were planning.

"So where _were _you hiding your lightsaber?" he asked as they stepped out into the light.

She just smiled enigmatically. _Women._


	4. Chapter 4

Surprisingly, Scourge was as good as his word. His proof turned out to be a small stack of data disks, which T3-M4 decrypted. They turned out to contain a bunch of information about Scourge, his boss Nyriss, and a bunch of the Emperor's advisors ostensibly plotting to overthrow the Emperor but really having private pissing contests. It sounded like Revan was Scourge's Plan B, since Nyriss wasn't doing anything useful.

"Could we use any of the others?" Atton wondered aloud. "Tentacle Face here is just one guy; this Nyriss character probably has a whole army."

"It's not a bad thought, but Scourge seems like the most effective of the lot. And Revan's already had a chance to work on him," Meetra pointed out.

"So I guess he's our man, then. Uh, Sith."

"It pains me to say it, but I think so."

Scourge was back in a few hours for their answer. "We believe you," Meetra said. "We're ready to work together."

"Does this mean you'll tell me your names?" Scourge asked. _What is this_, Atton thought, _the first day of school? Let's all be buddies? Let's get on with it already._

"I'm Meetra. This is Atton, and Tee-Three-Em-Four." Atton gave a languid wave with his off-hand, keeping the other one at a casual distance from the lightsaber hilt on his belt. The droid chirped irritably.

"What's it saying?" Scourge asked.

"He says it's time for you to take us to see Revan," Meetra translated, although for Atton's money the droid could just as easily have said, "Hello," or "Get lost, Tentacle Face," or "I'm a little trash compactor that cheats at Pazaak."

Scourge shifted his weight. "The situation has changed. That isn't an option any longer."

"Wait, what?" Atton demanded.

"She is being held by a Sith Lord named Nyriss. When I offered to take you to see Revan, I was hoping she could convince you that we should work together. Going to see her now that you've already agreed would only be an unnecessary risk."

Atton didn't like the way this was going. "So what I'm hearing is, we've been so cooperative that you've decided _not_ to hold up your end of the bargain."  
Scourge shook his head. "Seeing Revan was never the real bargain. I agreed to work with you to _free _her."

"If you just take us to see her, you can leave the escape to us," Meetra said.

"You can't fight your way through Nyriss's entire army of followers, even with my help. She has hundreds of guards and dozens of acolytes trained in the dark side. If we're going to break Revan out, we need a distraction. Something to draw the attention of the guards away while we sneak in."

Atton was thinking that setting Scourge on fire in the entryway wouldn't be a bad distraction, but Meetra replied seriously, "I assume you have a plan."

"I do." Scourge smiled, and it was one of the creepiest sights Atton had ever seen. "I'm going to get the Emperor to help us."

* * *

Atton had gotten the better deal on the slave costumes. Meetra had to suppress a cringe every time she looked down at hers—a skin-tight purple bodysuit designed for a dancer. It wasn't as bad as the metal bikini she'd had to wear to dance for Vogga on Nar Shadaa, but it was a close second. Atton, on the other hand, was fully dressed in something like a house-slave livery. They both wore matching shock collars—nonfunctional, of course, not that that made the cold, tight band of metal around Meetra's neck any less revolting. T3 had on the droid's version: an inactive restraining bolt.

From the outside, Nyriss's stronghold looked like a miniature version of the giant fortress overlooking the city. Meetra kept her head down as she stepped out of the speeder into the high-walled courtyard, but she was surreptitiously checking the lay of the land. The path from the landing pad was made of white stones interspersed with something purple and glowing; they were surrounded by six or so large statues that looked like they'd taken some fire recently. Looking around, Meetra was glad Scourge had been able to enlist some help, even if it had to come from the Emperor—if she and Atton had had to try to assault this place themselves, disabling their speeder would have been all it would have taken to sign their death warrants. Even a Jedi couldn't scale those walls easily.

They hung several paces back from Scourge as they approached the entrance, dutifully doing their best slave impressions. Meetra had wanted to pose as mercenaries, but Scourge had said they wouldn't be allowed inside unless they looked harmless.

At the doors, they were greeted by a guard. "Welcome back, Lord Scourge. Darth Nyriss was just asking about you."

"In what regard?" Scourge asked.

"Sechel and Murtog both left two days ago; she wondered if you knew where they had gone." Sechel was the Sith they'd paid for information about Scourge, Meetra realized—no wonder they knew each other, if they were both Nyriss's flunkies.

"They didn't include me in their plans. I've been scouring the slave markets for the past few days, looking for a worthy purchase."

The guard nodded. He was looking at Meetra in a way she didn't like. Atton didn't like it either, if the sound of grinding teeth coming from her left was any indication. "Of course, my lord. I will inform Darth Nyriss that you have not seen the others."

"Good. Once I am settled, I will go speak with her myself to see if she wants me to inquire after them." Scourge gave a curt nod back, and led the way inside.

The halls weren't heavily populated, and Meetra had a little more freedom here to look up. The interior was clearly designed for defensive purposes—heavy stone walls and steel doors—but it was just as clearly meant to showcase its owner's wealth and taste. Their footsteps were almost silent against the elaborate woven rugs covering the floor, and every few meters they passed a new piece of artwork displayed on the wall or tucked into a shallow alcove.

"This could complicate things," Scourge hissed as soon as he found a quiet corner for them to duck into. "Nyriss wouldn't have asked after the others if she wasn't growing concerned. I had hoped to avoid her until the Emperor made his move, but if I put off seeing her now it will look suspicious."

"Fake something," Atton suggested. "You're injured. You caught a cold at the slave market. You just remembered you had tickets to that big arena match in the city. Does Dromund Kass do the whole make-slaves-fight-giant-carnivorous-animals-in-the-arena-for-the-entertainment-of-the-masses thing? It seems like the type of place that would."

"If anything, that would make it _more _suspicious. All of those would make me appear weak."

"And a Sith can't have that," Meetra cut in. "Fine. Why not just take us to Revan now? The five of us together shouldn't have much trouble fighting our way out."

"You haven't seen Nyriss's guard."

"Obviously _you _haven't seen Revan in action."

"Whatever you know of her, she's in no condition—" He was interrupted by a violent explosion that set the ground shaking. Scourge gasped. "The Imperial Guard—they're here!"

"Nice timing," Atton said.

Meetra was almost startled into blurting out the obvious: _but you just tipped the Emperor off this morning_. Clearly they were dealing with a formidable opponent who had the resources to deal with threats decisively. It wasn't an encouraging revelation, but any new information about their enemy was good information.

She jerked her slave collar off. "This is our chance. Let's hurry." Alarms had just started ringing all the way down the hall, and she had to raise her voice to make herself heard. Scourge gestured for them to follow and started running.

Around them, things quickly erupted into chaos. The explosions didn't stop; they only got louder, pressing in from all sides. (Artillery fire, Meetra had a feeling. You'd need it, to blast through those walls.) People shoved past them, flooding the halls—guards, civilian staff, slaves, though who was running to mount a defense and who was just running was anyone's guess. If there had ever been an emergency plan for this, it seemed to have been forgotten now. And when they saw the first of the Emperor's red-uniformed Imperial Guards, the former general realized immediately that the battle had been decided before the first blow had been struck. Vitiate's troops were disciplined, well-trained, and fanatical in the relentless way they kept advancing even when it required them to march over the corpses of their comrades. Even if Nyriss's people hadn't been badly outnumbered, they wouldn't have stood a chance.

Meetra had expected Scourge to try to skirt the heaviest fighting, but he avoided only the crossfire; when they ran into the soldiers in the red uniforms in the corridor, he just pressed to the wall to let them by and went back to running. Obviously they had been ordered not to harm him. Even that was impressive—she must have seen dozens of Sith running around this place, and yet the Imperial Guard, which might at best have seen a picture or description of Scourge once, was still able to single him out of the crowd. _That _was a well-trained fighting force.

Finally Scourge pulled up short in front of a huge durasteel door. He mashed the buttons on the security pad rapidly, almost desperately, but the pad just buzzed at him. He tried again; still nothing. "The whole place is in emergency lockdown. My security codes won't work."

"Don't worry. Tee-Three can slice through any security system." Meetra gestured to T3, who immediately got to work.

Scourge almost bounced on his heels with impatience. His eyes were darting around the hallway. "He'd better hurry. I don't sense guards on the other side of the door."

"You think they fled?"

"I think when the alarms went off Nyriss told them to execute the prisoner."

Jedi though she was, Meetra's chest seized up. "They can try, anyway," Atton snorted, but his tone was a lot less certain than his words. Even a Jedi could die from a point-blank blaster shot to the head.

The wait while the T3 sliced the door was agonizing. The constant blaring of the alarms and the repeated explosions didn't make it any better. _There is no emotion_, Meetra reminded herself, trying to keep her breathing and heartbeat steady. But when she heard the click that told her the slicing attempt had been successfully, she shoved the door open hard enough to send it crashing against the wall, and she ran.

She took the stairs so fast she almost ended up going down headfirst, but it was worth it—because there at the bottom was Revan.


	5. Chapter 5

Unmistakably, Revan—wearing long robes that looked like they might have been white once underneath the layers of filth, leaning almost nonchalantly against the wall while two guards sat on the floor next to her like chastened younglings. Without thinking, Meetra rushed to the other woman, who held her arms out to catch her.

It was a strange contrast to the last time they'd seen each other, when Revan had been the conquering hero of the Mandalorian Wars, like a solemn god in her mask and long robes, just at the beginning of her war to crush the Republic under her heel—and Meetra had been a victor who didn't feel anything like it, going back to face judgment. Even after that, Meetra's first instinct was to run to her as if she were a long-lost sister.

Meetra's second instinct was to gag at the stench. She pulled back, struggling to keep her reaction from showing on her face.

Revan grinned ruefully. "Well, if I'd known you were going to get all dressed up, I'd have made more of an effort to clean up." Her gaze shifted over Meetra's shoulder to land on Atton, and her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she were trying to place him. "Who is—" Her eyes flickered between the two Jedi, drawing the line between them. Suddenly she burst out laughing. "All the way across the galaxy, in the middle of Sith space, and you brought your boyfriend. This is one hell of a date."

"I thought an extra pair of hands might be useful in _rescuing you_."

Revan snorted, wincing as she wiped her eyes with filthy hands. "Point taken. They've got me drugged up to my eyeballs, so forgive me if I'm a little socially unpresentable."

"The name's Atton, in case you were wondering," Atton piped up—too fast, Meetra thought with a sharp glace at him, like a guy who has something to hide.  
"Can all this wait?" demanded Scourge from the stairwell.

In the next second, Meetra was being whirled around as Revan put herself between Meetra and the Sith. "It's okay," Meetra reassured her. "Scourge is here to help us."

There was an awkward silence before Revan threw her head back and laughed again. "So I finally get to learn your name. Scourge. No wonder you didn't want to tell me." Meetra had forgotten just how much of a smart aleck she could be; in this mood, she might rival Atton.

"Thank you! I've been saying for days that it sounds like the kind of Sith name an eight-year-old would make up."

He was interrupted by Scourge making another irritated plea for them to get out of there; Scourge was interrupted by Revan sinking woozily to the floor. "Watch the guards," Meetra said quietly to Atton, who nodded, although they wouldn't have been much of a threat even if he hadn't had a lightsaber. She knelt down next to Revan as Scourge moved to the wall and came back with a hypodermic, which he injected into Revan's arm.

"This will help, but it will take a few minutes," Scourge said.

"Better wait to move, then. Be a lot more use fighting than if someone has to carry me over their shoulder," Revan pointed out, still sounding a bit disconnected.

Scourge didn't look happy.

"While we have a minute, then—" Meetra nodded to Scourge, who pulled the wrapped mask from his bag, "—I have a present for you from Bastila."  
Scourge dropped the bundle with a heavy _whumph_. Revan picked it up, unwrapped it, and immediately passed out.

* * *

"What's happening?" Scourge demanded.

"What do you mean, what's happening?" Atton twisted, trying to see what was going on behind him and keep an eye on the guards at the same time. They looked fine; Revan didn't. "Damn it! Exile, tell me we didn't come all the way out here just so we could break Revan in the first five minutes."

"Be quiet, both of you!" Meetra ordered in her General voice. "Let's give her just another minute or two and see if she comes to—"

At the top of the stairs, T3 wailed. A second later he hurtled down into the room at a velocity that would have taken out anyone in his way, and landed wheels-up in a corner. If he were a person, he would've been whimpering, which Atton could empathize with: part of him kind of felt like doing the same.  
He drew his lightsaber. "Looks like we don't have another minute."

He was just wondering what to do about the two guards when Scourge took charge and ordered them to go investigate the stairs. Atton followed and stopped short several paces behind, just waiting. To one side of him, the Exile was hooking her hands under the other woman's armpits and dragging her toward the open cell. She'd just gotten there when lightning seared down the steps and incinerated the two guards. Atton barely managed to avoid flinching; out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Scourge reacting the same way and felt slightly vindicated. Meetra left Revan in the corner of the cell and jumped back to stand between the two of them. Her dancer's bodysuit gleamed with reflected light from their blades, highlighting every curve. Atton tried to ignore it.

A woman emerged from the stairwell and he did an involuntary double-take—she could have been Kreia's twin, if Kreia had had red skin and small tentacles on her face. He couldn't decide if this was an improvement on Kreia's looks or not.

This must be Nyriss.

"What's this? More Jedi?" she asked.

"More nosy old Sith women? And here I thought we were done with this," Atton cracked. But he had bad memories of the first old Sith woman, and this one looked even worse. He could feel his lightsaber grip digging into his palm.

The hag laughed. "The Imperial Guard will make sure I never leave my stronghold alive. But neither will any of you."

Her arm came up. Atton had a bad feeling about that. "Move!" he barked, already diving. Lightning crackled just behind him. He shot back up to see that the others had gotten out of the way in time to avoid the blast, but now the hag herself was in the gap with her long double-bladed lightsaber, cutting them all off from each other.

Atton had been in a lot of fights, and if there was one thing he was good at, it was sizing up an opponent. He could tell at a glance that this one could kick his ass. A second later, she was spinning her lightsaber like a whirlwind, and he revised his opinion: she could probably kick all their asses at once.

If there were two things he was good at, though, the second was being sneaky. If he could get the others to distract her, he might have a shot at catching her off guard. Nyriss was focusing most of her attention on Scourge right at the moment, so he took his chance—ducked in under her blade and took a low slash at her legs. She spun toward him, thrusting her hand up as she turned. Lightning stabbed down at his chest, and he went limp and buckled to the floor.

_"No!"_ the Exile cried on the other side of the circle. Immediately, Atton heard the hag round on her again, lightsaber humming as she let loose with what had to be a crazy flurry of slashes. He relaxed his shields slightly and cracked one eye open to see that Meetra had been forced down to one knee. Nyriss was coming in for the kill when she was knocked off balance—Scourge had come back in.

Meetra danced away, moving like she was trying to get a clear view of him. He gave her the smallest possible wink, praying she'd get the hint.

Her expression didn't change, but the way she turned back without a second glance told him she'd gotten it (it wasn't the first time they'd pulled this one, after all). Now she just needed to keep the schutta distracted long enough to buy Atton an opening—and keep her from deciding to finish him off. "You'll pay for what you did to him!" she shouted at Nyriss, playing the part to perfection (an inveterate liar like him could always appreciate good technique) as she lashed out with the Force. The Sith was too well shielded for it to have much impact, but then Scourge was in the fray next to Meetra and they were able to coordinate their attacks—not gaining any ground, at this instant, but managing not to lose too much, either.

Atton silently eased himself up. In another few seconds, his blade could be in the old woman's back.

He was just daring to let himself think they might have a chance when Scourge made eye contact with him. Atton saw it coming the instant before it happened, like a speeder wreck: Scourge let the surprise flicker across his face, just for half a second. It was all Nyriss needed. She whirled back toward Atton and her hand shot up yet again. Still just halfway to his feet, in too weak a position to dodge easily, Atton panicked and hurled his lightsaber instead. But the throw went wild and Nyriss's blast of energy slammed into him, sending him flying into the wall.

Pain exploded everywhere around him, radiating from the back of his head outward. What happened next was blurry at best, but upside down and through half-closed eyes , he could just make out the spark of the Sith's lightning as it crackled out at both the Exile and Scourge simultaneously, throwing them off their feet as well. Atton croaked out a cry. He tried to get up, but his body wouldn't move. They were all going to die, he realized suddenly. He really didn't want to die.

Luckily, that was the moment Revan woke up. Atton blinked back the haze of pain as she stood, long robe swirling around her legs, looking for all her filth like some kind of avenging angel. "I am Revan reborn, and before me, you are nothing," she said, and then she let the old schutta have it.


	6. Chapter 6

The ride back in the speeder seemed to stretch on for hours, at least to Meetra. Scourge, not a man for small talk, drove without looking at or speaking to anyone. Revan was silent too, but Meetra couldn't tell where she was looking; she was still wearing her hood and mask, still and impassive as a statue. T3 was the only one making any noise, emitting quiet whirring sounds as it repaired itself. Atton was sulking.

Well, maybe that wasn't fair, Meetra corrected herself. His arms were folded, his expression was stormy, and he hadn't said a word since they'd left the compound, but it had been a painful battle and she shouldn't be too quick to judge.

"That throw was closer, at least," she offered quietly.

"Save it, Exile."

All right, he was sulking.

Scourge dropped them off at the cave mouth and left, circling back to the city for information and supplies. T3 switched on the headlamp, and the three Jedi headed inside the cave. They hadn't left much gear here, but Meetra was glad to see that what they had was undisturbed: her Jedi robes and Atton's, plus their mercenary outfits and what was left of the rations they'd brought from the Ebon Hawk. Not that she'd expected anyone to stumble upon their little camp, tucked back where the glow from the headlamp couldn't be seen from the outside, but reassurance never hurt-especially after a day like today. She stopped and turned to the others, spreading her hands to say, _here we are_. The lamplight illuminated the weary lines on Atton's face and reflected eerily off the dull metal under Revan's hood.

Finally, Atton broke the silence. "Were you planning on taking the mask off anytime soon?" he asked Revan. "It's, uh, bringing back some flashbacks I could afford to skip."

Meetra gave him a discreet glare, although privately she was glad he'd asked. She wouldn't have said anything—she was used to Revan's appearance—but the implacable Mandalorian mask would have been…unnerving somehow, even without the weight of all the associations it carried for all of them. She couldn't quite put her finger on why that should be true now, as many times as she'd seen it. Maybe it was what Bastila and Admiral Onasi had said about how they'd feared Revan's memories coming back, worried they would change her. Maybe it was just the poor lighting.

"I think I'm having the same flashbacks. I've been half-afraid they'll stop if I take this thing off," Revan herself said, right on cue. Slowly, though, she tossed back her hood and slipped the mask off, revealing her face once again. Meetra felt herself breathe a shade easier as Revan settled the mask carefully on the ground. Atton's posture shifted too, got just a shade more relaxed.

"Well," Revan said with deliberate-almost forced-casualness, as if they were all back at the Academy about to begin spring cleaning instead of waiting to hear if tomorrow would be a good day to launch a single-handed assault on the heart of the Sith Empire, "first things first. Hold out your lightsaber, would you?"

Meetra obliged. Revan shrugged her cloak all the way off and grabbed the bottom of her hair—which, after three years without being cut, spilled down the full length of her back in a matted hank—and stretched it taut. Then she bent and swung her fist below the outstretched blade, severing her hair at about shoulder length. She let the cut section drop.

"If only the rest of getting back into fighting shape were that easy," she commented dryly. "Speaking of which, were you planning on changing out of the dancing costume?"

"Please don't," Atton interjected.

At least he wasn't sulking too hard for that. Meetra pointedly ignored him and retreated to the shadows to put her own Jedi robes back on. She felt a lot more at ease once her underwear was back _inside _her clothes where they belonged. When she came back, they all settled on the ground to wait for Scourge to come back with dinner—and soap.

And then the question came, as Meetra had known it would. "What's happened since I've been away?" Revan asked.

It was far from the first situation report Meetra had given her in their lives, and she knew Revan would want the bad news first; she always did. Like a general, Meetra gave the worst of it matter-of-factly, without hesitation: "The Sith hunted the Jedi almost to extinction. Do you remember Kreia?"

"I do now."

Atton muttered something that sounded like, "Too bad."

"She fell to the dark side. She wanted to destroy the Force." There was so much Meetra wanted to explain, but she forced herself to stick only to what mattered the most. "She reestablished the Trayus Academy, and she and two other Sith Lords joined forces to try to wipe out the Jedi. It's a long story for another time, but the short version is that they almost succeeded. We defeated them and destroyed Malachor V, but Kreia managed to kill even the Council. There are only a handful of us left."

"Who?"

"Bastila, as I mentioned. She tracked me down on Telos and gave me your mask. Actually, she wanted to come with me, but the few Jedi who are left have their work cut out for them in rebuilding." Meetra decided not to go into the details of that argument. Bastila had been so determined that she needed to go help her bondmate that she'd had her bag half-packed by the time Meetra had managed to convince her she was needed more at the Academy, and using her Battle Meditation on behalf of the Republic. _Revan didn't take her the first time for a reason_, Meetra had told herself; _she has a purpose here_, though that had been cold comfort in the face of Bastila's final, disappointed acquiescence.

She continued, "Atris is still alive, though perhaps not in the best condition to restore the Jedi Order to its former glory. Deesra Luur Jada—"

"Jolee Bindo? Juhani?" Revan cut in.

"I don't know. I'm sorry. They could be in hiding."

"And there's us," Atton cut in. It was the first real contribution he'd made to the conversation. "Meetra's students. Six of us, including me."

Revan was silent. So were Meetra and Atton. "I was hoping there'd be more to that list," Revan said after a few seconds.

Meetra shook her head. "If there's anyone else, we don't know about them."

"Then the Republic—"

"—is badly weakened," Meetra answered. "With the Jedi gone and the fleets still rebuilding from the wars, the Republic would be even less able to withstand a Sith onslaught than it was a few years ago."

"Bleak picture."

"Then I'm doing a good job of describing it. We need you back, Revan."

"Right. Once we finish putting out the fire here—" Revan broke off. Her gaze flicked down to the mask in a way that would have seemed absentminded if it hadn't been for the laserlike intensity of her eyes. Meetra could almost see the plans forming in her head.

Before long Revan looked up again and sighed. "Damn. The Republic was in bad enough shape after the wars. When I left, I hoped the people I'd put in place to protect it would be enough to keep things from getting worse."

"I'm not sure anyone could have kept things from getting worse, except maybe you," Meetra replied. But that did lead her into the one bright spot her report could offer. "But the picture could have been even bleaker. Mandalore the Preserver and his people came through. And I think Admiral Onasi might have the fleet even better trained than they were in our day."

She couldn't count the hours she'd spent with Revan during the wars, but through almost all of them, Revan had worn the mask. Meetra hadn't seen the other Jedi's face for any length of time since they'd been at the Academy. It was shocking to see it now, with emotion flaring up unrestrained in Revan's eyes. Meetra wondered if Revan literally couldn't hide how the scrap of news had affected her (had the captivity weakened her training that badly?), or if she just didn't care to.

"He's all right, then?" Revan asked.

"Yes. He said to tell you he's waiting for you."

"Is he still wearing that terrible orange jacket?"

"He was wearing armor when I saw him. It was still terrible."

Revan laughed, a little louder than the joke called for, and Meetra saw just how hungry Revan had been to hear this news and wished she'd led with it after all. She found herself sneaking a quick glance at Atton. His expression stayed neutral.

Meetra was opening her mouth to tell Revan about Telos and the Restoration Project when Scourge emerged through the shadows with the food and supplies, and a grim expression. "We move at dawn," he said.

* * *

"What did you find out?" Meetra asked.

"It wasn't just Nyriss who was attacked," Scourge said. The containers he was carrying dropped with a heavy thud. "The Emperor killed them all."

And he told them the story: the Emperor had attacked and killed all twelve members of his Dark Council in a single day, nine of them in the citadel. Chaos had erupted in the city, and the Emperor had responded by declaring martial law, a curfew, Imperial Guard patrols in the streets, a shutdown of all offworld communications, and a quarantine on the entire planet. He needed to restore order on Dromund Kaas before the news leaked anywhere else. But once he had, there would be no one to stop him from rallying the people and seizing the moment to attack the Republic.

"He won't make his proclamation until order is restored on Dromund Kaas," Scourge concluded.

"That doesn't give us much time," Meetra said.

"The Guard are patrolling the streets, enforcing the curfew. Only a handful remain stationed at the citadel. At dawn, most of them will be recovering at the barracks after patrolling the streets all night, and there will be fewer people on the streets. That is our best chance to strike at the Emperor."

Revan spoke up again. "This time I know how he operates. I can show you how to shield your minds from being dominated by his will."

She had told them about her first trip to Dromund Kaas years ago—with Malak. They'd posed as mercenaries for months, preparing to attack the Emperor, but when they reached him, he had easily broken their wills and turned them to the dark side. ("So much for Kreia's theory," Atton had muttered.)

Meetra noticed how expectantly Scourge turned toward Revan, even more quickly than she did. Revan might be primarily a means to an end for him, but it was clear that that wasn't the whole story—he genuinely seemed to have come to respect her while she was being held prisoner. Unsurprising, Meetra thought; the ability to win others to her cause always had been one of Revan's dominant traits, for better or for worse. She looked to Revan as well, with Atton following suit a few beats behind her.

"Empty your mind and focus on one thought," Revan began. "That's the hard part; you need some single-minded focus that can't be easily corrupted by the dark side's influence. Something neutral and repetitive. It's best it if takes a little concentration, but not much. Listing the docking bays at your local spaceport is a good one, or—"

"Counting Pazaak cards," Atton cut in.

Revan's eyebrow quirked up. "Or counting Pazaak cards. You've done this before."

They were quiet a moment. She seemed to be testing him in some way that Meetra couldn't see.

"Yeah, I know a thing or two about it," Atton said.

"Good. Then I can rely on you to help show Meetra and Scourge?" Revan ordered in the guise of a question, getting to her feet and extricating a jug of water from Scourge's supplies. "I'm going to take a bath."

And just like that, she really did head off and leave the task to him. That one _did_ surprise Meetra. Revan delegated, but not lightly; she'd rather do everything herself than entrust a job to someone she wasn't confident was up to it. If she'd just been looking into Atton's mind, she must have been satisfied by what she'd seen there. Meetra wondered if knowing about his recent struggles with his Jedi training would have made a difference to Revan.

Atton looked like he couldn't decide whether to rise to the occasion or be annoyed by it. Maybe it was a healthy mix of both, but either way, he suddenly addressed them with what seemed like a fresh shot of confidence.

"Well, I know _you_ know how to do this," he said to Meetra. "Scourge, you ever play cards?"


	7. Chapter 7

Revan cleaned up okay, Atton decided now that he could get within a meter out of her without contemplating the loss of his lunch. He'd seen the same holovid as everyone else, the one from that medal ceremony, but it hadn't quiet done the woman justice. Her face wouldn't stop speeder traffic, but she had this—something that made you want to rally to her cause. Kind of like the Exile.

Even the Jedi he'd killed had made him feel that way. Atton wondered if it was just his weakness for a pretty face talking, or if that was something all Jedi were supposed to have, and if so, where he could sign up to get it. It hadn't been in any of the lessons Meetra had given him so far.

Whatever it was, it might make him follow her into battle, but it didn't make him confident that he wanted to talk to her. Revan—shining war hero amid a galaxy full of inaction, fallen Jedi, ruthless conqueror of Republic space, tyrant who led her army of Dark Jedi and torturers like him with an iron fist. Even though he'd followed her through most of it, all that history still made for some mixed feelings.

Late in the evening, though, she came over to him, still carrying the mask. Her robes were still drying, so she'd borrowed the Exile's merc clothing; it hung loosely on her frame, making her look strangely fragile. Obviously the meals at Darth Nyriss's House o' Doom had left something to be desired.

"Shielding your mind from Force users. You didn't learn that from Meetra."

Atton turned toward her, slightly annoyed. "I picked it up in the wars, as you already know, since—where else? Why do you ask?"

She settled down across from him without waiting to be invited. It wasn't that he wasn't being obvious enough about not being in a friendly mood; clearly, she just didn't care. "I like to get to know the people I'm going to be fighting to the death next to. And I'm interested in Meetra's students."

He wondered if he could lie to her. He'd just been one guy in that massive fighting force of hers, and as good as he'd been at his job, it wasn't like he'd been delivering weekly reports to her. Even so, something told him he probably wasn't going to put one over on her-but maybe it would get her to drop it.

Or maybe it would get her to Force choke him. Savior of the Republic, sure, but old habits died hard.

So he told her the truth. "Yeah, well, I was in your army." He didn't specify what time period; that, too, should be obvious. "For a while, anyway. Finding out I was Force-sensitive kinda killed my career ambitions."

"Smart man." The point lingered between them. Revan cleared her throat. "And then you became a Jedi."

"Well, then I became a smuggler. And then I met the Exile. Meetra." He almost winced. "She didn't go by her real name until after she offed that old witch. Still getting used to it."

"And how is she as a teacher?"

"Good. Patient."

"Does she ever throw a bucket of water at you?"

"What?"

"Just curious. When we were apprentices on Dantooine, that was the standard reminder to control our tempers. Both of us spent the whole day in sopping wet robes more than once."

He was not going to picture that. The Pazaak play-by-play started up in his head almost automatically.

Revan was watching him. "Practicing for tomorrow?"

Damn that woman. "You know," he came back immediately, keeping his temper in check—because a) he was a Jedi and b) she could probably kill him with her left pinkie nail—but just barely— "I _hate_it when people try to crawl into my head. Old pet peeve."

"Guilty as charged." Revan held up her hands in a placating gesture. "I apologize. Let's use our words, then, and you can tell me what's bothering you. It's coming off you in waves."

_Damn Jedi_, Atton thought reflexively, before he caught himself. He pulled his Pazaak deck out of a pocket, set up the main deck and dealt them each a side deck at random. Revan drew the high card and played a 7 for her first turn, then a +/- 6. Atton's first card was a 4. He gestured for the end of his turn, playing it safe until he had her pegged.

"This is just weird," he said. "You're like a legend, this—mysterious masked figure we all followed for years, and now we're sitting on a cave floor in the middle of nowhere and you're telling stories about your childhood. It'd be stranger if you ran into anyone who wasn't bothered by that."

Revan put down a +6. "I put my leggings on one leg at a time just like everyone else."

He drew a +8 from the deck and played it. "I don't believe you."

"I'm not demonstrating, so you're just going to have to take my word for it. That's nineteen."

Atton slapped his double card on the table. "Four plus sixteen is an even twenty."

Revan swore.

"Ah, ah, ah. There is no emotion…" Atton intoned.

"Why do I get the feeling you only say that when it's convenient for you?"

He shuffled and dealt again. "I guess I'm not much of a Jedi."

"Ah," Revan said. "Now we get to it."

"To what?"

"That's what's eating at you. You're afraid. You fear failing as a Jedi, not measuring up."

"You're crazy," Atton started to say, but the words died in his throat and he laid down a -3 in silence.

She set down her cards (face down; no fool she), looking at him intently. "Why?" Her and Meetra both, pushy as hell. Between them and the others who had been on the Ebon Hawk recently, he was turning into a damn magnet for pushy Jedi women.

"Why are you crazy?" he asked.

"Why are you afraid?"

"Because of what we did to Jedi!" he exploded finally.

Revan just waited, letting the silence hang until it almost compelled him to keep talking. "I spent years trying to convince myself I wasn't Force-sensitive. And now…"

"And now you have to open yourself to the Force."

"That or learn to throw better."

"Short-term fix." She leaned forward. "It's natural to be afraid. But if you let yourself be driven by your fear, it will always hold you back. If you live long enough, these same insecurities will still be keeping you up at night twenty years from now."

"And how exactly am I supposed to stop 'being driven by my fear'?"

"Recognize it for what it is. It's like white noise—it doesn't help you; it just drowns out what you really need to listen to."

He didn't entirely believe her, which meant she wasn't using any Jedi tricks on him, and he appreciated that, at least. "Fear's helped me plenty in life," he pointed out.

"Fear—real, blind fear—or caution? Letting your fear take over, or trusting your intuition when something doesn't feel right? Once you make that distinction, has it really been your fear that's helped you?"

"I was scared as hell when I deserted your army, and it was the best decision I ever made."

"Maybe you needed fear then; maybe it was the only thing that could move you as a Sith. But as a Jedi, it will limit you. You have better ways to achieve your goals."

He didn't say anything. Revan tried again. "Look, Jedi don't just say 'there is no emotion' because it's an easy way to tease each other for getting angry. It reminds us that emotions like fear are illusory, in a way. We don't blindly reject emotions; we see them for the mental constructions they are, and that helps us set them aside. And when you've let them go and your hands are empty, you can reach out for the Force."

More damn Jedi mumbo-jumbo. Atton smacked his own cards down on the cave floor in annoyance. "Oh, right. 'There is no emotion,' says the woman who practically loses it at the mention of some guy's name. And here I thought you were one of the few Jedi who wasn't a hypocrite."

"I'm trying to teach you by the proverbial book here," she came right back. "Yes, I believe that positive emotions—love—can be a means of strengthening our connection to the Force, maybe the best means. The Council didn't." Her expression softened slightly. "You're right, Atton. When we stand against the Emperor tomorrow, I'll be thinking of Carth Onasi, not counting spaceports. But technically—no, not technically, that's heresy, and I promised the masters I wouldn't spread it around."

"In case you hadn't noticed, the masters are dead. Maybe the Jedi Order could do with a little heresy."

"Maybe. But whatever you believe about drawing on the Force through love, Atton, fear won't help you either way." Revan picked up her cards again. "Now, I was just about to beat you."

She didn't. They went another couple rounds—and she wasn't bad at Pazaak, but Atton was better. Finally she lifted her hands in surrender. "I know when I'm outmatched. Next time let's have a swoop bike tournament instead."

"Hey, shouldn't the victor decide the conditions of the rematch?"

"A Jedi should also show mercy."

He laughed. "Fine, fine. But I should warn you, I've spent a lot of time on Nar Shadaa."

Revan laughed too at that one. She got up to leave, and then, on impulse, Atton said, "Hey, Revan." She stopped. "What are you afraid of?"

Her back was to him. "Did you sense it?" she asked.

"Lucky guess," he said, not sure if he was lying.

She was silent for so long he figured she wasn't going to answer. She still didn't turn back around. Finally, she admitted, "What might be ahead."

"You mean with the Emperor?"

"No." How the hell had he not noticed that Meetra had come up behind him? Damn Jedi. "I think I can make a guess. It's not what's out there that scares you, is it, Revan? It's what things will be like when you get back."

She was looking at Revan with an expression that suggested she knew something about that herself. Personally, Atton was mystified. "Uh…I'll just leave you ladies to your moment," he said, sweeping up the desk and getting to her feet. He ambled over to Scourge and offered to teach him the game, but the only response he got was an incredulous stare.

Atton gave up and stretched out by the fire for the night. T3 rolled over to him and beeped, extending a mechanical arm for the deck. "No way, rustbucket," Atton said, rolling over. "You cheat."

* * *

He wasn't quite asleep when Meetra came over and sat down next to him. "Are you all right?" she asked. "I heard part of your heart-to-heart with Revan."

"Hard to keep secrets in a cave," Atton replied ruefully. "I'm fine. She was just giving me a pep talk about 'letting go of my fear' and 'trusting the Force.' Never would've figured her for such a cheerleader."

"Yes, you would have. At the beginning of the war, anyway. You don't command an army like ours without charisma. It was just hard to remember that side of her after she fell and learned to lead through fear."

"Yeah, that part I remember."

"Well, she's more like the old Revan right now. I wonder if it will stick."

"Let's hope. I'd hate to bring her back only for her to take over the galaxy. Assuming we live that long."

"We've done just about all we can. I think you're as ready as any of us, Atton."

"How do you figure?"

"We have an astromech droid designed to slice security systems, one Jedi who was cut off from the Force until recently and another who hasn't held a lightsaber in three years, and a Sith. You stack up better than you think."

"Comforting."

He was going to leave it at that. He'd had enough of confession hour with Revan. But maybe because of she'd said, Atton found himself opening his mouth again and admitting, "I've just felt kind of superfluous so far. You could've done any of this without my help." As always, he was gut-churningly awful at this "feelings" stuff. He started again. "Meetra, I'm still getting by on what I knew about fighting before. I'm still not—I mean—"

"And that's why Revan told you to trust the Force."

"Yeah, she did. It seemed like something you should've mentioned earlier." Damn his big mouth. He hadn't meant to say that.

"You're right. I should have." Her voice was matter-of-fact. "I think I was just too close to realize what the problem was. I've seen you open yourself to the Force before, especially that first time when your training began—so I just kept assuming I must be teaching something wrong. A teacher should be able to step back and analyze her student's struggles objectively, and push him harder if needed. I've found both of those things difficult to do lately."

"You're right. I wasn't afraid that first time." Atton shifted uncomfortably. He didn't need her to tell him he'd regressed since then. "It was easier before. Uh, opening up, I mean."

"Why is it harder now?"

"Not that the pressure wasn't on when we were just fighting the local Sith, but this is a lot bigger. It's just been us out here. If I screw up and let you down, your pretty-boy disciple isn't around to bail us out."

He wasn't entirely sure himself if that was it, or all of it. Maybe it was like a cycle—he wanted so damn badly not to fail her that the anxiety itself was screwing him over. And the more time he spent alone with her, it seemed like the worse the pressure got. Maybe it wasn't even really about Meetra at all; it was even more about not wanting her to look at him as a failure than it was about actually not failing her. That's probably what Revan would say, damn Jedi shrink. Just another Atton Rand ego trip. Attractive or not, why would you be so pathetically desperate for someone's approval?

"Performance anxiety? Atton Rand?" Meetra asked, breaking his train of thought.

He wondered if she was secretly laughing at him. "I'm being serious, Meetra, don't screw it up."

"Well, if it is performance anxiety, that makes two of us." She let out a long breath. "Whatever I should have done as your teacher, I can't make you trust yourself to the Force on command. There's no secret Jedi trick. All I can do is do my best to teach you, and hope that when you really need to, you'll find a way."

Why would you be so pathetically desperate for someone's approval, Atton was still thinking…

…unless you really were serious?

"Revan had another suggestion, actually," he heard himself saying. "You hear her talking about that crazy theory of hers about using—uh, positive emotions to connect with the Force?"

Meetra half-smiled. "Is it crazy? We've heard so many conflicting perspectives on the Order's teachings, it's hard to tell anymore."

Atton sat up. "No kidding. You never know—" he said, moving closer to her, "—until you test it." And his hand closed around the collar of her robe and pulled, gently enough that she could've resisted easily if she'd wanted, but apparently she didn't because a second later he was kissing her.

For a moment, he was half-surprised at himself; after that, he was just surprised he hadn't gotten around to it sooner.

She broke it first. She didn't seem like she was angry. She just said quietly, with what might have been another hint of a smile (or not), "I guess we'll find out tomorrow, then." And with that, she stood and retreated into the shadows-to sleep or meditate, he wasn't sure, but she wasn't going to do either of those things with him right now. Fair enough, Atton guessed. It had been pretty lousy timing on his part, but at this point he didn't think it could make their situation much worse. Tomorrow's battle was probably all going to depend on Revan, anyway.

He raked his fingers through his hair and tried to collect his own thoughts. The main thing he came up with was that whatever happened tomorrow, at least he wouldn't kick it without having done that. He lay down again, inadvertently dug his lightsaber into his hip, shifted back and rebunched his cloak under his head. It didn't help much.

* * *

He must have succeeded in falling asleep, because he opened his eyes later to see Meetra meditating and Revan hunched in front of T3-M4. The droid was playing a holorecording of a man—Admiral Onasi, Atton realized belatedly—in what really was a terrible orange jacket. Revan was wearing the mask again. Atton wasn't sure how to interpret that.

The only other one who'd been sleeping was the Sith. He was pretty sure he knew how to interpret that one—he just didn't want to. When you and the dark-side guy were the only ones doing something, that was probably a hint that it was the wrong thing to be doing.

Quietly, he sat up, crossed his legs, and tried to empty his mind. _Just let go of your fear,_ he thought. _No problem._


	8. Chapter 8

There was nothing dawnlike about the morning. The storm outside the cave had quieted to a cold, continuous drizzle; when Meetra opened her eyes again, her internal clock was the only evidence she had that it must be morning by now. She looked for T3 to ask what time it was, but the droid wasn't nearby.

A quick glance around the cave located him next to Revan, who was pulling her second glove on in the pale glow of T3's dimmed headlamp. The mercenary clothes Revan had borrowed were in a folded pile nearby. She was back in her own robes now: brown leather chestplate, boots and gloves, with an ankle-length white skirt and hooded white cloak. They were something of a recolored version of her familiar black ones, Meetra realized. As they always had, the long robes told you something about her. Revan was deadly with a lightsaber—or at least, she had been when Meetra knew her—but she wasn't going to be executing many Ataru backflips in that long skirt. This woman, these robes said, doesn't need to move to kill you.

"Are you ready?" Meetra asked.

"Not quite yet," Revan replied. She lifted the mask from the ground, brushed it off carefully, and settled it over her face. With the white hood tossed up over it, she was completely covered—intimidating even in her gauntness, so anonymous she was barely even recognizable as a woman, but so familiar at the same time. "Now I'm ready. And you?" As always, her voice was muffled just a shade by the metal, but it was still clear and calm.

"Ready to follow you into the depths of hell again? I wouldn't miss it for anything."

Revan's quiet laughter came from behind the mask. It was a strange sound. "Thank you, Meetra. For everything. No one else could have rescued me."

"Oh, I don't know about that. Bastila is a powerful Jedi."

"True, but try to picture her passing herself off as a mercenary."

They both laughed this time. "It gives me hope to see how great a Jedi you've become," Revan continued. "Great—and good."

"I learned from the best," Meetra replied. "And I owe her more than I can ever repay."

"Especially if you keep standing around talking!" Atton cut in. "Come on, ladies, let's get moving. We've got an emperor to assassinate."

* * *

Their crack team was quiet as they left and filed into the speeder. Scourge took the pilot's chair, of course, although Atton had a few choice words about his flying technique ready for when this was all over. Revan had made a little small talk over breakfast, but now she didn't have much to say; she just took her seat and rested a hand absently on the droid's head. She seemed pensive, but then, Atton thought, people in plate metal masks with eyeslits usually do. In the long white getup, she almost looked like a bride, if you ignored the covered face, the leather, and the gleaming lightsaber hilt.

Her mask swiveled in his direction, and he suppressed the urge to shudder. Right, never mind. She didn't look anything like a bride.

Scourge launched the speeder and slowed practically to a standstill for the turn back toward the city. Fighting to keep his hands from making strangling motions, Atton looked toward Meetra.

She sat dead still, staring straight ahead. Atton had seen that routine before, a couple of times—when she had even a few minutes before a big fight, she'd start it up to try to clear her head. "To center myself," she'd explained once when he'd asked about it. Atton had always preferred to center himself with juma, but today he followed her lead. _Recognize fear for what it is. Reach out for the Force_, Revan had said. And Meetra: _You'll find a way_.

Dying today wouldn't be the end of the world, Atton told himself. Life-threatening danger was so familiar it was practically an old drinking buddy by now, and most of the situations in which he'd encountered it before—a two-bit gang fight in the back alleys of Nar Shadaa, say—would have been a lot worse ways to go. Going out fighting against Galactic Enemy Number One alongside the legendary Revan and his teacher was probably a more respectable end than he deserved. What was there to be afraid of?

He stilled his body and fixed his gaze out into space ahead of him. Without looking, he could sense Meetra's slow, even breathing, and he matched it. The way she did it, she made it look so easy to let the Force flow through you. _Reach out. You'll find a way_.

* * *

Scourge didn't take them far in the speeder, only to the edge of the city proper. The rain had picked up during the trip and was blowing sideways under the awnings, and the hoods of their cloaks quickly soaked through as they walked. Aside from their group and a handful of guards, the streets of Kaas City were deserted. Meetra could see why—between the badly damaged buildings and the clear signs of violence, she certainly would have stayed inside with her door locked if she'd been a civilian too. T3 checked for surveillance as they moved, but there didn't appear to be any. Meetra could almost dare to hope that they might make it in with the element of surprise still intact—but she kept her hand close to the hilt of her lightsaber nonetheless.

The damage got worse the farther into the city they went. They were seeing bodies now; buildings not just damaged, but destroyed and still smoking in the rain; evidence of heavy weapon fire—not just from handheld weapons, but it looked like from ship-mounted guns as well. That this kind of carnage was familiar to them didn't make it any prettier.

It wasn't until they were almost to the Emperor's fortress that Meetra realized just how large it really was. The huge staircase up to the entrance seemed almost designed to wear any potential attackers down before they even made it to the doorways. Even she, a Jedi highly trained in physical combat, was starting to feel a burning sensation in her legs by the time they approached the top.

There were no guards outside the citadel; it was only when they got within striking distance of the door that six heavily-armed guards burst through it. "You are in violation of the Imperial curfew. Surrender your weapons and you will be escorted to a nearby prison facility."

"Escort this," Atton said, moving for his lightsaber—but Scourge gave him a furious backward glance, which he immediately re-aimed at the guard who had spoken. "You fool! Do you know who I am?"

In Meetra's experience, the answer to that was usually, "No, and I don't care," but this time it sparked a little hesitation. "Only those explicitly authorized by the Emperor are permitted on the streets…" the guard said, with a bit more respect this time.

"I need no authorization! My name is Lord Scourge, and I demand a meeting with the Emperor!"

They hadn't known who he was before, but it was clear they did now. The weapons spontaneously lowered. "We will escort you to him, but the others must wait here," said the guard. He was getting more conciliatory by the minute.

Scourge, on the other hand, was getting less so. "No. They will come with me to speak with the Emperor in person."

Meetra felt Atton tense again beside her as the guard hesitated once more, but this time Revan on her other side was ready to move as well. Meetra prepared herself for a fight as well—until after a long pause, the guard waved them toward the door. "Follow me. I'll ask the captain to meet us outside the throne room. She will decide whether to allow this."

Meetra sensed that she wasn't the only one in their group who was relieved at not having to fight here. They could have taken these guards easily, but probably not before they raised the alarm and alerted the Emperor to the attack-not to mention everyone else in the fortress. If Scourge had been concerned about their ability to fight their way through Nyriss's followers, the thought of needing to cut a path through even a reduced force of Imperial Guard might give him a heart attack.

The group entered the citadel and began following an even longer series of corridors than the ones in Nyriss's stronghold. Meetra kept track of the turns, which moved them inward in a convoluted sequences of twists that finally brought them to a gigantic pair of durasteel doors. Revan stopped without being prompted. Meetra felt her heart lurch up to her throat. This was it.

They were surrounded: three guards between them and the doors, three flanking them on the other side of the hallway. Meetra didn't see any captain. She began calculating which of the guards she would need to jump for first, if Scourge's fast-talking didn't work.

"Where is your captain?" Scourge demanded of the guards.

"She is coming," replied the one who had let them inside.

"I will not be kept waiting. I demand you open these doors immediately!"

Meetra tensed again, this time to rush inside the throne room, but a new voice stopped her. "What is going on here?" a woman demanded. Revan made a quick movement, but when Meetra looked, she saw that the other Jedi had only turned to face the doors. Atton caught Meetra's eye and she gave a slight shrug.

The guard saluted. "Captain Yarri, Lord Scourge demands another meeting with the Emperor."

Yarri marched toward them. The sound of her bootheels was as formidable as her appearance. Atton had once pointed out that if you could say one thing for the Sith, it was that they had snappy uniforms, and the red-clad Imperial Guard captain was no exception. (The worst thing about them, he'd added, was their severance package. Meetra wondered why that should occur to her now, of all times.)

She stopped dead in front of Scourge, who was furthest from the doors. "This is not acceptable, Lord Scourge. If you wish to speak with the Emperor, you must do so alone."

"I do not take orders from you, Captain."

"In the citadel you do." She raised her voice. "You other three and the droid, step away from there."

Meetra and Atton complied. Revan also stepped back a pace, without turning. Yarri jerked a head at one of the guard, who grabbed Revan's shoulder to pull her around. Revan's arm shot up sharply, knocking the guard's hand away.

"Yarri knows her," Atton hissed suddenly, putting the pieces together. "That's why she's been avoiding turning around. Get ready."

And as soon as Meetra edged her hand down to her lightsaber, Revan turned back. Yarri's eyes snapped to her face, and almost instantly she yelled, "Assassins! Kill them all!"

Revan's long skirt traced a wide white arc up and to the side as her foot slammed into the chest of the guard who had grabbed her. Meetra drew her weapon and spun back to hit the two guards nearest the door. Behind her, Atton pivoted to put his back to hers and prepared to meet the charge of the others. Off to the side, she heard the electric clash as Scourge's red lightsaber met Yarri's charged staff.

Meetra launched herself first at the guard on the left, who parried her lightsaber neatly, digging the glowing blade into the wall in a way that reminded her uncomfortably of Atton's damage to the Ebon Hawk. She swung it back the same way, then sliced it sharply back low to the ground before the guard on the right could bring his staff down. Legs severed at the calves, he collapsed. She paused only long enough to kick his weapon away from the fighting before refocusing her attention on the first guard. Atton's back pressed against hers and moved away; his lightsaber hummed as it hit home; Meetra heard a death scream. The other guards had joined the fight. An alarm went off, almost deafening in the hallway. T3 beeped and wheeled in a circle along the wall, trying to find the panel to shut it off. Over the din, Meetra could hear Atton swearing.

The guard Revan had been fighting was dead. Over her opponent's shoulder, Meetra saw Revan thrust her hand out, and the durasteel doors banged open.

Meetra barreled into the throne room, forcing the guard back on weak footing. He didn't stumble, as she'd hoped, but she was able to get him in far enough to make room for the others to enter behind them. Inside, she lashed out with a flurry of short strikes intended less to hit her opponent than to force him to hang back for a moment, and that bought her time to get a better sense of what was happening around her.

Three guards were accounted for: she'd killed one, Revan another, Atton a third. Three to go, including the one she was fighting now. Scourge was dealing with the captain and Guard #5; Atton was on her right, tangling with the last of the six guards; T3 was sealing the doors—and there was Revan, charging toward the Emperor. Every fight but that one was a sideshow. They needed to finish the guards off and get there.

The darkness emanating from the Emperor was almost a physical chill, a shock to the system as visceral as a sudden plunge into icewater. The guard was clearly invigorated by it, striking at her with renewed energy; Meetra had to fight against it. She wondered if the Emperor even needed to concentrate to dominate a mind. Suddenly she wished she hadn't asked Bastila to stay with the students after all. Battle meditation could have turned the tide.

The guard's electrostaff was almost as long as he was tall, giving it much better reach than Meetra's single-bladed lightsaber, and the emitters at either end crackled purple with electricity. Scourge was wearing armor, but Meetra wasn't; if the guard hit her the right way, the current would kill her.

Dancing back, she spared just another moment to let her mind reach out to Atton for a minute, remembering last night, trying to feel his proximity and let it strengthen her without becoming distracted by his fight. She shot a half-second glance at him. He looked back over his shoulder and had just enough time to shoot her something like a wink before they both turned back to the battle.

If they'd had more time and less room, she would have tried to maneuver the guard into a corner to limit his range of motion, but there were other combatants between them and the walls on all sides. Relying on Force powers was also an option that might have worked in other circumstances, but it was more difficult here, in the stronghold of the dark side. The Ataru lightsaber form, with its emphasis on speed and acrobatics, was risky against an opponent with a long weapon she couldn't afford to touch, but Meetra was good at it and she needed to finish this quickly. She leapt up and somersaulted in midair, delivering a vicious downward stroke as she fell, but the guard brought his electrostaff up in time and she had to redirect so her blade hit the staff instead of his body, keeping her from getting shocked and giving her the resistance she needed to push herself backward. He redirected his staff to strike again, but the last-minute push had made him stumble back just a step. Meetra landed and spun rapidly out to the side. The lightsaber blade went through the guard's torso from behind and carved forward until the two halves of the body pitched to the floor. Meetra barely had time to breathe before she heard the scream.

She turned and saw Revan collapse, her body still flickering with lightning, her lightsaber going out as it rolled away from her hand. T3 was spraying his flamethrower at the Emperor—obviously he'd distracted the Emperor from his attack on Revan. The Emperor was just rounding on the little droid when Meetra instinctively threw a hand out to bolster her Force Push. It barely hit him—whether because he was at the edge of her range or because she was simply outmatched, she couldn't say. He took just half a step back to reground himself, otherwise completely unfazed, and the only thing Meetra's attack bought her was half a second for T3 to wheel farther back, on the retreat. The Emperor didn't bother to chase him, just picked up Revan's abandoned lightsaber and went in for the kill.

He would be shielding himself; she couldn't hope to stop him just by hitting him with the Force. She flung her lightsaber, watched it spin through the air on an intercept course with Revan's—and it was then, when it was already too late to even think about changing her mind, that she realized she'd had the opportunity to kill the Emperor and hadn't taken it. Getting Revan's lightsaber out of his hand was the only way to save Revan from that deathblow, but he wouldn't need a weapon to kill them all in the next second. She needed to follow up, somehow, she thought in despair. Her blade collided with Revan's just as the Emperor swept it downward, and the force of the blow sent both weapons clattering to the floor. She rushed blindly forward—

—just in time to see another flash of light hurtle in, and the Emperor stagger and fall, his body pitching sideways with the momentum of the blow and lying still—and something rolling away that Meetra realized only belatedly was his head—

—and then, to her right, Atton's hand reach out to catch his lightsaber as it returned back in a perfect arc.

"Finally nailed it," he said.


	9. Chapter 9

Meetra ran to Revan, knelt at her side and turned her over. She began to take off the Mandalorian mask, and Atton saw her jerk her hand back: the metal was still hot enough to burn. Meetra wrapped the edge of her cloak around her fingers and succeeded in pushing the mask away. It fell to the floor with a quiet clunk.

Underneath, Revan's face was a ruin. Atton sucked in a sharp gasp of air. She hadn't been killed, but she sure as hell looked like it.

"Oh, Revan," Meetra breathed in horror. She spread a hand in the air just above Revan's face, channeling the healing power of the Force into the burned flesh. T3 wheeled up and came to heel nearby, beeping mournfully.

"Mmm. And here I was going to enter the Miss Coruscant beauty pageant when I got back." Revan's voice was thin and cracked, but what there was of her lips quirked in what might have been an attempt at a smile. "I can sense that the Emperor has become one with the Force. It's over, isn't it?"

"Yes. It's over."

"And I want it on the record that it was me, not the famous Revan or the famous Exile, who struck the killing blow," Atton pointed out, encouraged by her joke. Actually, he was impressed that she was talking. Even with the healing, the pain must have been terrible.

Revan slowly sat up. "Atton," she said. "Between that and the Pazaak games, my legacy is just about destroyed thanks to you."

"You're welcome."

She turned her face toward where the Emperor's corpse was laying. "We should burn the body."

"Here?" Scourge asked. Atton had forgotten all about him in the heat of the battle. It seemed like he'd been suspiciously absent, except for fighting Yarri and the other guard. Why did Atton get the feeling he'd just been waiting to stab them in the backs if things had gone bad?

If Revan had noticed, she kept her mouth shut about it. "We'll take it back to the cave if we have to. And then we're done here. I don't know what your plans are, Scourge, but I'd like to get off this planet as soon as possible."

"Maybe we should worry about fighting through the big crowd of guards who are probably waiting for us outside those doors first," Atton said. He was also tempted to point out that, having just been fried, she might be better off not launching right back into the fray, but that would probably just earn him a sarcastic response. He retrieved Meetra's lightsaber and handed it back to her. The droid scooted over to entrance, ready to unseal the doors.

Revan stood, reaching out with the Force to snap her lightsaber into one gloved hand and her mask into the other. "I think they should be more worried about fighting us."

* * *

The way out was easier than the way in had been. With the Emperor dead, some of the power of the dark side in the citadel was diminished, and the fact that Scourge was carrying the decapitated body of the Emperor (the head was in his bag) probably also accounted for the way the remaining guards scattered as the group broke back through the doors. Before long, the citadel would be deserted, Meetra thought. Everyone would retreat to their hiding places like rats. Then the inevitable infighting for supremacy would begin again among the strongest, while the weaker ones waited to see which would be the winning side.

She said as much to Revan, who nodded. "You're right. Eventually a victor will emerge. Maybe even Scourge. But the Emperor and the entire Council are gone, which removes all the strongest players. Once someone manages to claw their way into power, their primary concern will be keeping it, not attacking the Republic. Even if someone does want to become a galactic conqueror—there's no one here who can rival the Emperor. The Republic is safe, at least for now."

They made it back to the speeder unopposed, and then they were airborne.

They built the fire just under the lip of the cave, where it would be sheltered from the rain but where the smoke could escape. Scourge hoisted the body onto the pyre, with the head sitting awkwardly on the chest.

Meetra had seen too many funerals like this. Not enough, at the same time, since so many Jedi had been killed during the wars in ways that didn't afford their bodies the opportunity to be sent off properly. At first she'd been against the idea of giving the Emperor—a being who'd decimated an entire world—a traditional Jedi funeral pyre. Then she had remembered that she, too, had an entire planet on her conscience, and her Jedi compassion had come flooding back.  
Then, too, she understood Revan's unstated practical motivations: burning the corpse to ashes would keep anyone from using it for anything else, whether as a rallying symbol for an invasion of the Republic or a source of dark side power.

Revan came forward to rearrange the limbs in a more peaceful position, then gestured to T3. The droid extended its flamethrower arm and rolled forward, spraying the base of the pyre with flames. The kindling went up quickly, and soon the body was alight as well.

* * *

The pyre had long since burned out. Scourge had been asleep for hours, but Atton didn't feel tired. He never did, after a battle. When he was a kid in the fleet, the unit went out after every big fight, and when they couldn't go out they snuck out, and when they couldn't sneak out they pulled their flasks out surreptitiously from the undersides of their bunks or the torn linings of their footlockers. But they always drank together until dawn—or whatever passed for it where they were—whether they were celebrating the fact that they'd all made it through another firefight with their skins intact or honoring the comrades who hadn't. Even after he followed Revan over, when all of them who were left were too paranoid and competitive to drink together anymore, Atton stayed up late after every Jedi he broke and drank alone.

They didn't have anything to drink, but he was wide awake anyway. Meetra was still sitting at Revan's side, in the same position she'd been in most of the evening, still working on the burns.

Atton couldn't tell if the healing was making any difference yet—the wounds still just looked like a mess to him. It must've been enough to ease the pain, though, because Revan was sleeping. Not the restless, tortured sleep of someone who's having nightmares, or the equally restless, shallow sleep of someone who's expecting to get ambushed at any minute. She was passed out face-up on the floor of the cave, sleeping like it had been a long time since she'd rested easy. You couldn't tell what expression her face should have, but she had kicked her boots off, and her bare feet gave her a strangely peaceful, almost childlike aura.

Finally, Meetra stretched, got up, and headed in his direction. "Correct me if I'm wrong," Atton said to her, "but is that the Ex-Dark Lord of the Sith snoring?"

She chuckled. "I believe it is."

He patted the ground and she sat down next to him, legs straight out to combat the stiffness of the meditation posture she'd held for hours.

"You think getting off-world will be a problem?" he asked.

"It's hard to say. The whole Imperial Guard must know the Emperor's dead by now. It can't be long until the rest of the city finds out, if they haven't already. I doubt the Guard will be able to continue to enforce the quarantine, even if they want to. I just hope no one's decided to take the Hawk."

"I'd like to see them try to override the voice-lock on the nav computer. That thing's locked up tighter than—" He stifled the dirty joke he'd been going to make about Atris, belatedly considering his audience. "Yeah. It's safe."

Meetra laughed. They were silent for a few beats, then she said, "I don't imagine you need me to tell you this—"

"No, please, feel free to anyway. It sounds like it's going to be good."

"—I was going to say you did very well today."

"What can I say, my master knows what she's doing." He flashed her his most charming grin. "And I took a bit of advice from some minor Jedi calling herself Revan."

"What advice was that?"

"Let go of my fear and trust the Force. And some heretical stuff about channeling positive emotions to help me fight."

"Did you try it?"

"It just happened," Atton said. "When I saw you make that throw to save Revan, and I realized—that's not a killing blow; he's going to kill us all if we don't stop him right now—I wasn't afraid for my own neck for once. All the fights we've been in, I mean, I always worry for you, I wouldn't be there if your safety wasn't rationally the most important thing. But when the chips were down, I was scared for myself. But this time, all I could think about was that if I made the throw, I could protect you."

"So what changed?"

"I dunno. I'd just heard so much of that 'there is no emotion' line from the Jedi, and I knew you're supposed to get rid of your fear, but—I think I couldn't without having something to replace it with. So when Revan talked about harnessing positive emotions, and I could actually use them instead of trying to shut them down…"

"…you were able to do more than you'd thought was possible," she finished for him. When he turned to look at her, she was smiling. "I have a confession to make. I already tried it, on Nathema. That wasn't the only time, either. You said I could have done everything without your help, but even if I could have gotten by with just T3…having you here to focus on made me better."

They were both sitting leaning back, with their hands behind them, supporting their weight. Their fingers were almost touching. Atton edged his over a few centimeters until they were just grazing each other, just close enough to leave himself an out if he needed one. Instead, Meetra shifted closer.

"Guess I was wrong for once," he said. "We did have to worry about it after all."

"Worry about what?" Meetra asked.

"You know. How Revan said it was too dangerous to be out here with anyone you love."

She leaned into him, nestling her head on his shoulder. Her hair smelled better than it had any right to, given how much time they'd spent in a cave lately. "I feel the same way, Atton. But I don't think we have to worry about it."


	10. Chapter 10

At dawn, they took the speeder back into Kaas City. The rain had stopped.

More damage had been done in the day since they'd last been in the city—smaller things, mostly smashed shop windows—but Atton didn't see any lawless mobs roaming the streets with clubs and heavy weapons, so there was that, at least.

He wasn't confident it would last long. In the absence of a planetary government, the strongest would make and enforce their own laws—like on Nar Shadaa. It wasn't a terrible place to live if you could play that game, but a lot of the civilians here wouldn't be able to. No one in the empire had ever lived under another leader, all the way back a thousand years. Whether it was some central authority figure or the local thugs who rose up to fill the power vacuum, it was going to be a painful transition either way.

They made it to the spaceport without incident. It looked a lot emptier than it had when they'd landed, but the Hawk was still there, undisturbed. Atton felt a bizarre surge of affection. He hoped Revan didn't want this bucket back when they got back to the Republic.

The three Jedi and the trash compactor got out of the speeder; Scourge didn't. "What will you do now?" Revan asked him.

"Both the Emperor and one of his Dark Council trusted me. Maybe that will be enough to make people listen to me. I'll try to muster the some of the people into patrols to keep order in the city. After that…we'll see."

"Emperor Scourge?" Meetra asked.

Scourge ignored the question. "Whatever happens, the Sith Empire won't be attacking your Republic anytime soon. We'll both have time to rebuild—in isolation."

"Fine with us," Meetra said. "Thank you for your help." She managed to keep her tone mostly sincere.

"And you for yours," Scourge said in a similar tone. Meetra turned and boarded the Hawk.

Revan turned to Scourge next. "Remember what I told you. Never let yourself be driven by your fear."

Atton's eyebrow shot up—did she just give that advice to everyone?—but Scourge seemed to think about it seriously. "As I said—we'll see." The Sith hesitated, like he had more to say. After a minute, he added, "It seems the light side of the Force is not as weak as I was always led to believe."

"And don't forget it." Atton couldn't decide if she was half-joking with the Sith or giving him an order. Maybe both. Leaving it at that, she followed Meetra inside the ship, with T3 at her heel. Atton noticed that neither of the women had expressed the wish that the Force would be with Scourge. It had been an uneasy alliance, for sure, but a better one than Atton had expected. Always nice to come out of a truce without multiple stab wounds in your back.

The speeder was still sitting there. "Well, so long," Atton said. Scourge gave him a curt nod—apparently he didn't rate as highly respect-wise as the two women—and faced forward again, preparing to go. Atton started to leave as well, then stopped. "Oh, one thing."

"What?" Scourge asked.

"Bank wider around your turns and you won't have to slow down that hard. Seriously, Flight School 101."

Before the Sith could come up with a comeback, Atton shut the hatch. It was probably un-Jedi-like of him, but sometimes, the cheap shot was just too good to pass up.

* * *

The trip back felt shorter than the one to Nathema had been. Atton joined in more meditation than he had on the way out. Revan, who was in remarkably good spirits for someone who'd nearly gotten her face melted off, told them stories of her own journeys on the Ebon Hawk, although those seemed like they got fewer and further between the closer they got to the Outer Rim. They played more Pazaak. They sparred. Meetra began to realize just how much she was looking forward to getting back and seeing what came next. With Revan onboard, the Republic's future seemed bright.

Shortly before they were due to reenter Republic space, Meetra found Revan lying down in the med bay. The contents of their last remaining life support pack were scattered on the table next to her. Revan's face was shiny with kolto. She had the dermal regenerators on her lap, ready for application.

"Should I come back later?" Meetra asked.

"No, it's fine. I'm not secretive about my beauty routines." Revan swung herself up into a sitting position on the bed. "Something on your mind?"  
"I've been wondering what you're planning to do when we get back."

There was a beat, and then Revan answered, "Well, I was living on Coruscant before I left. The Telos Restoration Project hadn't gotten rolling yet; they were still trying to scrape together more funding. It was a good place for me—us—then. I was near the Temple, and there's always plenty of work in the capital for a military officer."

"You're sidestepping the question, Revan."

"I thought we were going to Telos."

"That still isn't an answer. I mean in the long run."

"It sounds like you already have an answer in mind."

"Well, maybe." This was what non-Jedi hated about Jedi, this feeling that they were always two steps ahead of you. Meetra drew a slow, calming breath, then said, "Coruscant might not be a bad start. The Senate should know you've returned. They might want you to advise the Republic military, especially now that you have intelligence on the Sith Empire."

Revan's damaged face didn't change it expression, but skepticism was clear in her voice. "You remember how the Senate felt about me after the war. If anything, my coming back to the light only made some of them angrier; after everything I'd done, now they had to make nice and shake hands with me. Have you seen anything to make you believe their feelings have changed?"

No, Meetra had to admit. If anything, they might well be more furious than ever. "Then lead the reopening of the Jedi Temple."

"From everything you've told me, it sounds like a lot of people believe the Jedi abandoned them in their hour of need during the last few years. I don't know if a big open house party is the best way to counteract that."

It rankled because it was true, on both counts. It was obvious that neither plan would work, Meetra could realize immediately when she actually thought about them. But— "You have to do something, Revan" she insisted. "You're a hero—no, you're a symbol. People are scared; they need something to believe in. If you go back and tell everyone that we stopped a Sith invasion, it will help them feel safe again."

"Complacency can be deadly."

Meetra remembered this, these infuriatingly calm rebuttals. Revan used to do the same thing when they were planning battle strategies during the war. She'd stand there in her mask and push and push and push on your plan, looking for holes, testing every word, making you fight for it. Only the ones good enough to outlast her objections became orders. Most of Meetra's had passed, but this time she didn't have a comeback, and it was maddening. Maybe this was why Malak hadn't consulted Revan before he'd had Telos gutted.

"Remember the night we found you, when I told you the Republic needed you back, and you said as soon as we stopped the Emperor, you would come home and put things back together?"

"First, just as a side note, that's not actually what I said. But more importantly, that was before you told me Canderous and Carth had done so much to strengthen the Republic. And your students are no slouches themselves. The more I talk to you and Atton, the more it sounds like the galaxy may be healing itself without my interference."

She held up a hand to stop the inevitable objection before Meetra could even form it. "I do want to help, Meetra. I'm just trying to figure out how to do it."

"That's something, at least," Meetra acknowledged.

She was turning for the door when she heard Revan murmur, "'Savior, conqueror, hero, villain.'"

"Come again?"

"That's what Malak said to me before he died. 'You are all things, Revan, and yet, you are nothing.'" Revan's gaze shifted down, then back, as if she were setting the thought aside. "I'll think about it, Meetra, I promise. Just give me some time to…sort things out."

Meetra kept her tone deliberately light. "Sort fast. This time tomorrow we'll be on Telos."

* * *

Telos was looking gorgeous today, Atton thought as he swung the Hawk in for the approach to Citadel Station. Barely a storm in sight. He was in the mood to be sentimental; after the hellhole worlds they'd been on lately, even the sight of the wretched hive of scum and villainy that was Nar Shadaa would've brought an appreciative tear to his eye.

He glanced behind him and saw Revan staring at the view, looking transfixed. "Have you seen Citadel Station before?" Meetra asked from the copilot's chair.

"No. Carth came several times during the construction, but I only saw the vids he brought back. He wanted me to come with him, but I didn't think the leader of the army that destroyed the planet would make a lot of friends by eating the free food at the ribbon cutting." Her mouth quirked up in an approximation of the old wry smile. She still didn't look like she had before the battle, but the burns on her face had healed enough that Atton could look at her without being tempted to wince.

"It's beautiful," she said after a moment. "I wasn't sure I'd ever see it."

Meetra twisted back in her seat and began pointing out landmarks—the various Restoration Zones, the location of the Jedi Academy up at the north pole, and so on. Atton turned his attention to the console. "Guess I'd better let them know we're here."

He was just reaching for the comms when they lit up, and a man's voice came through. "Ebon Hawk, this is Admiral Carth Onasi. Looks like you made it back in one piece, at least."

"Must've had the ship flagged to alert him," Atton commented.

Meetra gestured at him to hush. "This is the Exile, Admiral. We've got news for you."

Out of curiosity, Atton glanced over his shoulder again. Revan was sitting up straight, still looking calmly at the surface of the planet beneath them. He stretched upwards in his seat and saw that she had the mask sitting on her lap, and her hands settled very deliberately over it with the fingers splayed, like she'd just realized she'd been death-gripping it and had made a conscious decision to quit. Onasi's voice crackled back down the line. "Exile, good to hear from you. I'll meet you in the hangar. Bay 3 in Dock Module 126 is prepped for your landing."

"Acknowledged. See you soon."

Atton recognized the bay number and brought them in without the aid of the nav computer. The dull gray-and-orange hangar wasn't his idea of a great place for a romantic reunion, but since his idea of a great place for a romantic reunion was a cantina, he was willing to accept that maybe he wasn't the best judge.

"Well, this is our stop," he said.

Revan stood, made to set the mask down in her chair and thought better of it, hesitated a moment, then threw the hood of her white cloak over her head, obscuring her face. T3 wheeled up to her and let out a series of beeps that sounded like it was supposed to be encouraging.

Meetra put a hand on her arm. "Why don't you let us go out first, and follow in a minute when you're ready?" Revan, conqueror of worlds, just nodded. Atton wanted to do something reassuring as well, but the best idea he could come up with was a manly punch in the arm, so he just popped the hatch and led the way toward it.

They stepped onto the ramp and found Admiral Onasi waiting for them, alone. Like Revan, he was nervous as hell but hiding it behind the bearing of a soldier. Atton thought of all the time the poor guy had been steeling himself to hear from Meetra again, asking himself if bad news would be better than never knowing for sure. He must be expecting the worst.

Meetra was ahead of him now, talking to Onasi. "Admiral, this is Atton Rand, one of my Padawans. Atton, Admiral Carth Onasi."

T3 chose that moment to wheel up, beeping. "Hey, Tee-Three," Onasi said to the droid; then to Atton, "Nice to meet you. You were traveling with the Exile?"

"Yes," Atton answered simply.

"That's good. Glad you had some backup for—whatever you faced, Exile." Onasi took a deep breath, like he was steeling himself. "Let's go up where we can talk privately, and then I want to hear everything about what you found out there."

"Hang on," Atton said. "We're still waiting on one more person."

The quiet clunk of a footstep on the Ebon Hawk's ramp drew everyone's attention. Atton watched Onasi turn—to see Revan, hood still up, poised at the top like she couldn't quite believe she was really there and wasn't quite sure if she should go all the way down. "Carth," she said. Atton had heard her speak in a lot of different tones of voice during their acquaintance—commanding, encouraging, steely, enraged, dangerous as hell, losing at Pazaak—but never one like that.

"Rinna," Onasi breathed, and it was like the wall was smashed through. Revan bolted down the ramp and launched herself at him. He wrapped his arms around her and just clung for a long time, while Atton tried to catch Meetra's eye and aimed increasingly less subtle head-jerks at the exit. Meetra ignored him.

When they finally broke, Carth reached up and pushed Revan's hood back to kiss her. Then he murmured, just loud enough for them to hear, "I missed you, gorgeous."

"Flyboy, I hate to break it to you, but I think your eyes are going bad," Revan replied.

"It's been more than four years. You could have come back as a Gamorrean and I'd still think you were beautiful."

They were both laughing and crying at the same time. Suddenly Revan stopped chuckling. "Carth…" she said, "I remembered everything."

He pulled her close again. "All that matters is that you're back. Everything else—we can figure it out as we go."

Atton turned to Meetra. "I think I've heard as much as I need to. How about that drink?"

She smiled. "A drink would be perfect."

He extended his arm, she took it, and they set off in step together in the direction of the cantina.

After a minute, she glanced up at him. "Atton, are those…tears?"

"Nope," Atton said, striding manfully forward. "Did I mention I killed the Emperor of the Sith?"


	11. Chapter 11

AN: This the last regular chapter, in which I make small gestures toward bringing this AU in line with the actual canon. Tomorrow I'll post a brief epilogue, and that will be it for this one.

Thanks to everyone who's read (and reviewed, of course!) so far. I really enjoyed spending time with these characters again, so I hope it's been fun for all of you as well!

* * *

The door slid open before Meetra could press the buzzer. "I'm glad you came," Revan said, gesturing for her to enter. "Give me a minute; I made caffa."

She went into the kitchen, leaving Meetra to look around. The quarters on Citadel Station were spartan—the home of a man who lived alone and wasn't there often—but that suited a Jedi, Meetra thought. The legendary Revan looked strangely at home padding barefoot across the room in civilian clothing.

A happy-sounding whirr sounded from somewhere else in the apartment, and T3 wheeled to greet her so fast it nearly slammed into her knees. "It's good to see you too," Meetra said, patting it. "Just tell me HK-47 isn't here."

"HK's with Canderous. Despite my twisted affection for that droid, constant pleas to go out and engage in random acts of violence aren't all that conducive to domestic bliss." Revan was back, standing in the doorway with two steaming mugs. The two of them sat down together. For a few minutes, they sat in companionable silence, blowing into their caffa, T3 settled peacefully by their legs. Meetra had something she needed to talk about, but it could wait until the time was right.

"Do you remember the last time we had caffa together?" she

Revan nodded. "Yes. Before you split off for Dxun. We'd been up for hours discussing strategy, and we had a last cup together before you left. We almost fell asleep."

"It was one of the only times I saw your face during the entire war."

"The mask _was _my face." Revan took an experimental sip of caffa, then a longer one, evidently having determined that it was cool enough. "It's in with my old robes in the bottom drawer. I don't quite know what to do with it."

"You could make a tidy profit at the market on Nar Shadaa."

"No one would believe it was real. Maybe a serving dish? Conversation piece?"

"Do I detect an underlying existential crisis?"

Revan laughed. "Maybe. In a way it feels like I've been here before. When Bastila and I made it off the Star Forge, we had this conversation—she couldn't decide what to wear, now that she'd fallen to the dark side and come back again."

"But it wasn't really about clothes at all."

"No. It wasn't." Revan was still smiling, but her eyes were serious.

"Maybe I can help," Meetra said.

"Oh?"

"Atton just went up to the Academy at the north pole of the planet. It's going even better than I could have hoped for. My students are starting to take on students of their own."

"Bastila told me."

"I want you to join us. The Jedi need a Council."

"And you want me to be on it? This goes without saying, but I'm not exactly an orthodox Jedi."

"None of us are anymore."

Revan didn't respond. "This is your chance, Revan," Meetra urged her. "You were right, going to the Senate and reopening the Temple are bad ideas. But this is how you can help the Republic."

"And if I said I'd done enough for the Republic? Not to mention _to _it?"

"I'd say you don't believe that for a second. You're _Revan_. You're not just going to retire without a trace into a life like this, no matter how tempting it might sound at the moment."

Revan set her empty mug on the table and leaned back, looking at the ceiling. Finally she said, "I have a condition for accepting."

"Carth would be welcome," said Meetra, who had tried to anticipate as many possible objections as she could. "It would be an easy commute from Citadel Station."

"That's important. But I was actually thinking of something else." Revan's expression was thoughtful, eyes studying the ceiling so intently that Meetra glanced up to make sure there was nothing up there. "Revan—I gave myself that name a long time ago. Maybe it's time to let it rest."

"What?"

"Someone told me once, 'you don't have to be Revan; you can be so much more.' For years, I've thought he was wrong, that I could never escape that identity, especially after I started remembering my past. Now I think I actually have a chance."

"But the Republic still needs you."

"Part of the reason I started wearing the mask in the first place was that I believed my message and my actions were what the Republic needed, not my face. Now I have the opposite problem: the mask _is _my face, and I need to get away from it to get back to what's actually important."

"And just be Rinna again, like when you were a Padawan? That simple?"

"It won't be simple. I can't just put all my memories back into the mask, even if I wanted to. I'll always be Revan on some level, but as for Revan-the-legend…let's just say I think I can do a lot more good if she just stays lost in space."

"It won't be that hard for people to put two and two together," Meetra pointed out.

"My friends will know, of course. It will be an open secret at the Academy. A Jedi reading through the Archives in a few centuries, maybe—although those are easy enough to alter. Maybe I'll rewrite myself as a man, really throw them off." The corners of her mouth quirked up into a grin. "Now, though—the dermal regenerators have done all they can; from here, my treatments involve reconstruction. I won't look the same when the doctors are done with me. It's a good time for a new beginning."

"This still sounds like a half-baked plan to me."

Revan's grin broadened. "My favorite kind. Trust the Force, Meetra."

Meetra took a long drag of caffa, giving herself time to process, until she drained her mug and set it decisively on the table. "Well, if Revan is still out in unknown space, so is the Exile. To Rinna and Meetra. Let's hope a lot of people are willing to play dumb."

* * *

It was unusually calm outside when the small party emerged from the ship and stepped out into the snow near the north pole of Telos IV. The snowflakes were falling lightly, and the sky looked like it might just be about to clear up. Four of the group members were wearing long brown cloaks: two brown-haired, blue-eyed women, one tall and one shorter; a man with black hair and a wide grin; and a dark-haired woman with just a few traces of scars lining her face. The fifth man was wearing an orange jacket.

The dark-haired woman stepped forward and laid an object face-up on the ground: a red and gray metal mask, with just a thin slit for the eyes. She moved a pace back, stood for a long moment, then extended her hands. Energy surged outward from them, directed at the mask. The other three cloaked figures imitated her motions, concentrating the power of the Force until the mask finally shattered, exploding outward in a hail of tiny fragments that soon sunk into the snow and were lost.

The woman in front lowered her hands. And if she looked a little lost for just a second, all trace of it was gone when she turned back around and smiled.

"Well, then," she said, nodding at the entrance to the Academy, "let's go home."


	12. Epilogue

The Jedi in the sanctum of Telos Academy sensed them coming, as vividly as if she were actually watching the ship sink through the hellacious winds outside and touch down in the hangar. The former Exile and a little girl. The girl was nervous, even afraid—not surprising, given all the stories she would have heard in her few years about the Jedi—but her companion was serene, even cheerful, and gradually that would begin to erode the fear.

Their route was easy to picture. She would take long way around, even into the training rooms, to give the youngling her first look at her new home. The place had expanded since they'd begun their work here, been redecorated until Atris's relentlessly sterile décor was just a fading memory, but of course the girl wouldn't know that. First they'd pass by the workbench room, where Bao-Dur and Mira would put down their lightsaber crafting to introduce themselves. Then through the central atrium, where Mical was holding court with a group of students, teaching them about the history of the Order. From the direction of the living quarters, they might hear the voice of one Dustil Onasi, whose turn it was to cook. His father was down from Citadel Station today and helping out in the kitchen, which meant that an endless string of one-liners were probably being batted back and forth right about now. At least they'd be good-natured.

The training rooms were all full today, the Jedi knew: Brianna and Juhani were sparring in one, Jolee and Visas in another, and when the older woman cracked the door to the a third and let the youngling peek in, they'd see Bastila sitting cross-legged on the floor with a student who showed promise in Battle Meditation. And then there'd be Atton in the last training room, demonstrating combat techniques to another group of students. She could almost hear it: "That'll get them almost every time," he'd be saying. "And if it doesn't work, you can always just hook your foot around and kick them in the—"

"Master Atton," the woman would cut in sharply.

He'd just give that irrepressible grin and blow her a kiss, and she'd make a face at him while the students giggled. And now she'd be guiding the youngling back out into the hall and promising quietly, "Almost there."

And they were. Down the long hall and into the meditation room, and then the door slid open, revealing the Jedi inside. She knew there was nothing remarkable about her appearance: simple brown robes, dark hair and brown eyes, and an ordinary face with no trace of injury—not a face that would stop speeder traffic, she'd heard, but one that could still prompt a certain admiral to call her "Gorgeous" nonetheless.

"Hi," she said, grinning reassuringly as she bent down to greet their newest student. "I'm Master Rinna Onasi." She didn't need to look back up at Meetra to know that she was wearing a matching smile.


End file.
